Shadowed Souls
by Losseniaiel
Summary: When Sirius rejects Remus, will they be able to repair the damage done? Set after GoF. CHAPTER 13 UP! COMPLETE.
1. Default Chapter

                                                                                                **Shadowed Souls**

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  Never were, never will be.  They are all J.K. Rowlings'.  You can tell because she is making all the money, and I am making a big zero.  Oh, and they also belong to publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury and Scholastic Books.

Rating:  PG-13 for slash.

Summary:  Sirius rejects Remus.  Will what was broken ever be fixed again?  It is so easy to wound, and so hard to heal.  Seriously, seriously angsty and sappy Remus / Sirius.  What more could you ask for?

Warning:  This is SLASH folks.  If you don't like it, don't read it, but don't bug me about it.  If anyone wants to be homophobic, they don't need to do so here, and can go and join the other bigots in a corner.  As you may have gathered, unnecessary anti-slash flames make me VERY annoyed.  I really am a sunny person, but I just wanted to say that.  Now, read the fic and enjoy. J

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It was not the most romantic of settings.  Only magic prevented the tiny, ramshackle cottage in Otter's Down from leaking onto the inhabitants, as rain swept the walls.  Inside, it was cosy enough, but books and scrolls chronicling the rise and fall of dark wizards littered every available surface.  In one corner, purple liquid oozed ominously in a cauldron.  In another, a broken Cleansweep leant crookedly against the wall, fallen twigs littering the floor.  At the oak table which took  up most of the room, the remains of a meal stood cooling on top of open volumes of _Grindelwald:  A Definitive History _and _Whither Darkness?_

In the middle of all this industrious chaos, the two men stood, wrapped in up in a deep embrace.  Midnight black and golden brown hair mingled, as two pairs of yearning, searching hands swept over the familiar forms.  Two sets of luminous eyes gazed at one another before flickering closed.  Briefly, the burdens of weariness and bitter knowledge seemed to slip from their shoulders, as they concentrated solely on each other.  Gradually, the rhythm of their breathing matched as Sirius murmured contentedly against the fairer man's lips.

It was Remus who broke the kiss first, pulling away and smiling gently at the taller man.  Certainly, Remus had no reason not to be pleased at the sight.  Sirius stood before him, their faces only inches apart, his eyes still almost closed, lashes shading the perpetually angry blue, almost brushing his cheeks.  The old mock-solemn smile touched the corners of his mouth.  Peaceful.  Content. 

Then, as if moving through treacle, Sirius dragged his limbs out of the werewolf's embrace and averted his gaze.  When, finally, he raised his eyes, they were cold, empty, and as icy in expression as in colour.  The look reminded Remus of that picture in the newspaper, vacant and inhuman, or of the furious maniac that day in the Shrieking Shack, not of the old friend who had been cluttering up his house these last few weeks.

"I don't want you, Remus."

"You seemed to, just then,"  Remus answered, attempting to keep his tone light; to bring years' worth of hiding who and what he was from the world into play; to conceal the numbing cold spreading through his bones.  The people in the photos adorning the walls stared; faces alight with tension and curiosity.  Lily and James clutched each others hands and craned forward, leaning together.  If either man had spared the attention to look, they would have seen that in one Hogwarts picture, Sirius was thumping his head against the frame.  In the background, Lily, her hand still entwined with James', yelled and waved one shoe at Sirius.

"It didn't mean anything.  You were just a warm body.  You can't expect us to forget the past fourteen years.  We aren't those people.  We can never be those children again."

"I never expected anything from you."

"Oh don't be so dense, Remus," snapped Sirius.  "You know what I mean.  I know you aren't being arrogant.  You never are. Perfect Remus," he laughed bitterly and broke off, staring moodily into the fire.  When he finally raised his gaze from the dancing flames, his eyes were colder even than before, glittering like obsidian in the flickering light.

"You can't think that there's a chance of making everything the same.  You can't imagine that we can go back to being Moony and Padfoot, twenty-two years old and madly in love.  I can barely remember what it was to be that person anymore."  Sirius' voice was infused with deepening anger, rising in volume with each syllable.

"Of course we aren't those people, but that isn't the point.  We're still here, and past events won't necessarily prevent us from doing this."

"Remus, I spent twelve years in Azkaban.  That hardly leaves me in a mood to contemplate the joys of spring."

"So you're letting Wormtail win, you're giving up?"  Remus asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

"There's nothing to give up, Moony.  It died fourteen years ago.  You don't know me.  You don't really want me.  I don't want you.  I don't need you.  And I don't have time for this.  It's not important enough."  With the last spiteful word, Sirius' face twisted with disgust at the distress so plainly marked on the slighter man's face.

The two remained fixed in their places, as if waiting for the end of the world, until Remus broke the tableaux with an abrupt gesture of one hand, his face as white as the waxing moon outside.  In sharp contrast to the rest of the conversation, with its furious crescendos, when Remus spoke, his words were soft, barely audible.

"You're probably right.  I can't imagine Azkaban, and you can't imagine what these years have been like, being alone.  We don't belong together anymore:  it's been too long.  Perhaps we never really did.  I was foolish.  I was weak.  Probably, it was just relief at finding you innocent.  Goodnight, Padfoot."

"I'll be gone as soon as possible."

Remus merely nodded, and began gathering up the scattered debris of the late supper.  As the forlorn candlelight fell upon his face, it highlighted the harsh lines of sorrows both old and new carved around his mouth and deep grey eyes.  Silver-streaked hair fell over his forehead, as he stooped his tall frame over the table, until he pushed it carelessly away with one pale, trembling hand.  To Sirius, watching with eyes swimming with misery, he seemed to be a suffering Orpheus, balancing the dishes and schooling his expression into one of studied composure.

At the kitchen door, Remus paused, and with an air of resignation  swivelled back towards where Sirius remained frozen, light from the fireplace glinting in his blue-black hair.  Remus said haltingly, "You will want to be gone by Tuesday night:  it's the full moon, and you won't want to be here.  Anyway, with the Wolfsbane, I'm better off alone.  I'm sure that Arabella will give you a room."  Despite his best efforts, the words still bore a hint if the razor-edged pain which was slowly yet effectively slicing his soul to ribbons.  All too well he remembered the previous month when, for the first time in over a decade, he had not been alone during the dreaded transformation.

Sirius flinched at Remus' words, yet he concealed his reaction so quickly that Remus, who could not meet his eye, failed to notice it.  The Animagus nodded sombrely.

Having set a spell to clean the dishes, Remus wearily climbed the rickety stairs to the cottages cramped bedroom.  Only yesterday, Sirius had crashed though one of the steps as he ill-advisedly thundered downstairs with the same reckless vigour and grace Remus remembered from Hogwarts.  To Remus, this recollection seemed as vulnerably remote and faded as those school days, as the Sorting itself.

Reaching the chaotic room, nauseous with dread, Remus slumped on the bed, his hair forming a dappled curtain of silver and brown to blot out the world.  He willed himself not to scream, or cry, not to throw the massive antique lamp across the room, not to give a single sign of the maelstrom of emotions, not to yield to the wolf rising within.  Eventually, he rolled onto his back, his limbs weak with emotion, and, breath calming, stared blankly at the ceiling, tracking the cracks in the plaster, sleepless and oblivious to Sirius doing the same on the sofa.

Finally falling asleep with the arrival of the sepulchral, pre-dawn light, Remus awoke from a few hours' uneasy dream-wracked doze to find the soft scuff-marks on the downstairs floor the only sign that the cottage had not always been his alone.  A bitter, self-mocking smile twisted the werewolf's mouth.

_Why did I expect anything else?_

TBC?

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Flames will be used to burn my textbooks so I have a good excuse not to work.  Positive reviews are as welcome as hot chocolate on a cold day. J


	2. Sirius' POV

                                                                                                **Shadowed Souls**

**Chapter 2**

All disclaimers in the first chapter.

Thanks to all my reviewers:  kind words make me giddy!

Farewell:  thanks for the matches. * sneaks off and begins to pile books in the corner *.  I hope this is a good look inside Sirius' mind for you.

Ralza:  yeah – oodles of pain.  They're so fun to torture.

Evil Spapple Pie:  Remus is always huggable, but hurt Remus is amazing.

**Sirius' POV**

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I did it. I finally did the right thing, repaid a little of my debt. My four weeks at Remus' turned into the best and worst in my life.  One minute, my skin would be alive with joy at his presence, my brain incandescent, and the next I would feel as if I was swimming through treacle, despair dragging at my limbs and flooding my heart, as I remembered what I should do.  The chance to see him again, to be near him, to awaken every morning to the faint scent of Moony pervading the house filled me with mad energy.  The indescribable feeling of being near him lulled my sleep, and Azkaban only appeared as distant flickers of madness.  How wonderful it was.  How terrible it was to have all this, and yet not have him, not as I once did, in those distant years when echoing screams did not haunt my nightmares, and I did not wake bathed in an icy sweat.

When I arrived, late at night, cold, soaked, filthy, matted, and miserable, it was enough to be here, to see that weary, beloved face.  I hoped, I prayed that he hadn't forgotten those mornings when we awoke in each others arms, content and lazy with love.  Memories of a time when we simply lay there, the warmth of our bodies mingling, swirled around me, as Remus reached out to grasp my hand.  As he drew me inside, shutting the door against the unseasonable storm, and his fingers carelessly brushed against my shoulder through my sopping clothing, I flinched as I saw again his delicate fingers swirling on my skin.

I fervently longed to believe that the past was not as distant as the last thirteen and a half years had made it seem, that what we once were need not only be a fading dream.  I was determined that Voldemort and Wormtail should not steal this from me, that in a darkening world, one light should be left.  All this time, I simply watched Moony, his graceful spare movements, and his still silences.  I marvelled at the way his hair dusted his forehead, at the way his eyes would light up when he found some nugget of information in a dusty tome.  I drank in all the little details which I had forgotten, which I had been deprived of by those foul Dementors.  

But although his very presence reinvigorated me, and I felt young again, I knew that to do what I desired most would be unspeakably wrong.  Creatures such as me are not fit for dreams like these.  I am a convict.  The burden of the deaths of Lily and James still bows my back and haunts me in the dark hours.  In the back of my mind, a cruel voice still whispers, _"Murderer.  You could have stopped it." _ How ever much I try to convince myself otherwise, I know that that voice speaks the truth, and one day I shall have to face the world as what I am:  if not a traitor, then a careless fool.  I spent over twelve years in Azkaban.  That experience has embittered me, wizened my soul until it resembles a lightning-shattered tree.  One thing I said to Remus was true.  I am no longer the carefree one, nor am I a fit mate, least of all for such a pure soul as this one.  I shall not ruin Remus' life with my ruin.  He deserves greater things than the wreck of a boy he once knew, and so I shall play his better self.  I shall deprive him of what he shouldn't want anyway.

He probably doesn't want me really.  He admitted as much himself.  How can it be possible that he loves me after so many long years, when the youth and looks and spirit with which I could once seduce him are broken and torn away like frippery trappings?   I still love him, because he remains what he always was, but I am diminished until the point where I cannot even recognize myself in the mirror, and I would not bind him to such as I have become.  This is not love he feels, but pity, and perhaps a little remorse.  I do not deserve him; I shall not taint him; I will not let him waste himself; I will not let him sink into regret.

So, to save the dear fool from himself, from his romantic heart which will not relinquish the past, and would only bring him anguish, I shall do this; I _have _done this.  To protect him from his trusting nature, which always cast mine into shadow, even when I was young, and did not know what darkness could be, I told him that I don't love him.  I may ache for him, and even to look at him while I uttered those loathsome words was torment indeed, but this is the game I must play, even to its very end.

But I feel good.  I feel justified.  I really do.  I did what was right, and that itself is my reward.  I am content with my choices.  I accept that I cannot climb those stairs, and slide into that tiny bedroom.  I am resigned to the fact that I must not pull back the duvet and slip in beside Remus, pulling our bodies close, savouring the contact, burying my face in his hair and pressing my lips to his neck.  The mournful loneliness of desire will fade.  And he will forget that I ever hurt him.  And on that day, I shall smile.

NO.  NO.  NO.  What am I saying?  Who am I kidding?  It would kill me to know that Remus had found someone else.  Even imagining him, in another's arms, in another's bed, awakens unspeakable despair within me.  The Dementors could find nothing better to torture me with than that image, and day after day, my love paraded before me with an assortment of arms cast around his shoulders.  Night after night, I was besieged with images of his silken hair mingling with another's on crisp pillows, of other fingers tracing the carved lines of his face.  Yet despite this, my love endured, only to bring me to this unsurpassed cruelty.  To cast aside the one I want for his own good.  I love him now more than I ever did as a youth, but I must not weaken.  I did this – I am right, and I shall be strong, yet it cripples me, and no joy comes from my moral certainty.

Oh my darling Remus, I would not condemn you to life with a battered convict, still less with one who is only a fraction of what you deserve, and who never was, but, oh my love, my Moony, how can I live without you?

TBC

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Flames will be used to cure frostbite.  Positive reviews are like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.


	3. Remus' POV

                                                                                                **Shadowed Souls**

**Chapter 3.**

See previous chapters for disclaimers etc.

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. I live for it.

Pie:  yeah, Sirius too he's just so …*goes catatonic*. Yum.

Hee hee – I think I'll torture you all a little longer about where I'm taking this story.  Why?  Because I'm evil and I need no reason.

Any feedback on whether you think it is too overdone to have Sirius return to Hogwarts as a teacher / protector with his name cleared, in Harry's fifth year would be so appreciated that I can't even begin to describe it.

Anyway, on with the story …

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Three times in all these years, I tried to start anew, to forget.  Three times, I tried to convince myself that love could be burnt from me with lust.  Three times, I awoke next to a man who was not Sirius, and buried my head in the pillow, and wept for the hopelessness of the whole situation.  Eventually, I gave up and resigned myself to this shadow-life.  It would seem that I am doomed to yearn for what will never return, for what I can never possess, for a man who does not want me.

Arabella always said that the world was a strange and broken place.  Only now have I learnt how much truth she spoke, and while I used to laugh at her cynicism, now my lips can only twist in recognition.  To have found him, when I thought that he was lost forever to me, only to lose him again, is a sour pain which wrenches at my mind.  How can I love Sirius so much, while he can walk away?  How can such strong love be unreturned?  How can we have come to this place, where life itself is only a phantom, and hope is beyond reach?  Once we were inseparable, and now Sirius has locked himself away in some place where I cannot breach the walls which surround him, where he does not even care to gentle the harsh words he speaks.

I gaze out of the window at the bleak Welsh countryside.  As far as the eye can see, the hills stretch away, blanketed in the sombre purple mantle of mourning.  The tears gradually drip down my cheeks, blurring my sight and stinging my cracked lips.  I realise what a foolish sight I must make to any solitary hiker:  a grown man staring at the monotony of the landscape, weeping unashamedly, his hands clenching and unclenching futilely, but I do not care.  I, too, am locked away in some place deep inside, alone with this awful realisation, and with the pain which feels as if it must rend me in two.  One word passes incessantly through my mind. _Why?_

The moon waxes, and the wolf rises inside me, barely perceptible at first, but then gathering power and urgency, and despair swamps me.  I slump in the chair, and as I stretch my legs out towards the glowing embers of the fire, the pain of what was, and what could have been, engulfs me.  A myriad of images dance before my reddened eyes, and I lose myself in them, too worn out to even attempt to end the agonising procession.  I remember the first time that Siri and I ever kissed, deep in the library stacks, OWL revision forgotten.  The ludicrous grins on Lily and James' faces when we told them.  Lying in his arms the first night we made love, entirely content with the world, drifting off to sleep in a tangle of limbs, his breath warm and tender in my hair.  Smiling with linked arms at Lily and James' wedding.  Young and unafraid.  Together.  They lie, those who tell you that happy memories are a comfort against the darkened years.  The very recollection that once I held Sirius in my arms only reminds me bitterly of the fact that I never shall again.

Oh Sirius, when did you stop loving me?  When did affection become contempt?  I saw that hostility, that pitiless disdain, in your eyes last night.  I could have sworn that when I embraced you in the Shrieking Shack last summer, you clung to me as if you would never let go, as if I was life itself.  But no – that must have been mere relief, a wave of elation at being believed innocent for the first time in years, nothing greater, nothing deeper.

Azkaban – twelve and a half years with nothing to do but reflect.  Perhaps, when the Dementors showed you the darkest recesses of your soul, you found there the strength to cast away the ephemeral attachments of youth.  Perhaps, you saw then that the love which you bore for me was fragile, less than a waking dream.  Perhaps, you realised that what you felt could not and would not last, would not withstand the trials of time and fate, and so you cast it aside as the worthless plaything of a forgotten childhood.  While my love will endure as long as I exist, perhaps you knew that yours would not stretch to encompass a greying, melancholic wreck of a werewolf. 

You have turned away from me, but wherever you go, whatever you do, my love will accompany you.  It seems that I am fated to be bound to you, whether I will it or not.  In truth, no matter how it hurts, if I had the ability to choose, I would not forsake this path.  Even with my heart irrevocably broken, how could I decide not to love you, Sirius?

But time is fleeting, and the world is shadowed.  I shall not expend all of my waning energies on pursuing that which I can never have.  I may be weak, and foolish, but, Sirius, I am no longer the boy who wouldn't have given up until he'd pestered you into distraction, or you'd changed your mind.  I know that what we love the most so often collapses and passes away.  Things end.  Life is shot through with pain, and entropy, and loss, despite its many glories.  So Sirius Black, we will tread the path we have taken, even to death itself.  We will abandon the dance.  And your life and mine shall be entangled no longer.  So we have decided:  Moony and Padfoot are no more, I shall live out my time, separated from you by the bonds of free will.  My emotions, my desires, shall no longer seek to be expressed.  I shall not seek _you_.  So may it be.

Farewell, my love.

TBC

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Flames:  *starts to throw history textbooks*.  Positive reviews: *bounces up and down and hands out chocolates*.

Ach – just a word of warning:  I may not have time to update in the next couple of days, as I have an evil essay in on Wednesday, but I'll try.  Also, sorry that this chappie is really short – it just didn't want to be any longer. *smiles apologetically*


	4. Visitor

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Shadowed Souls

Chapter 4 

Disclaimers in the first chapter … yadda … yadda.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. *Hands out chocolate snowmen*

Sorry this took so long, I've **finally** finished my essay, and I had to write this from scratch. I'll write a couple of chapters over this weekend as penance. This doesn't really have any R/S but it's setting something up, and the romantic angst will return soon, and it will be a tsunami. I've put in some nice self-doubt to make up for that.

MorganD: I put in some rather sweet Sirius-worrying-about-Harry bits for you. They're really short but I hope you enjoy them.

Now … Vive le fic! *grins in embarrassment at the appalling French but it's been a **long** week*

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So deep was Sirius' reverie that he did not notice the approaching footsteps, dulled as they were by the thick, dreary green carpet.

"Good afternoon, Sirius."

The book he was holding dropped from Sirius' fingers, and hit the floor with a loud thud which sent cats scattering in all directions. He jerked his head up in alarm, Azkaban being bad preparation for such surprises, then, seeing his visitor, he sprang to his feet.

"Good afternoon, Sir," the Animagus said, looking confused, then an expression of mind-numbing panic spread across his face. "Why are you here? Is it Harry? It's Harry. I'm going to wring the neck of the bastard who did this … I'm going to cut off his…"

Blue eyes twinkling, Dumbledore held up one pacifying hand, instantly breaking off Sirius' infuriated tirade.

"Dear child, I beg you to be quiet. Harry is perfectly fine, and currently enjoying the hospitality of the Weasleys, for the few remaining days of the holidays." Dumbledore smiled gently at the expression of pure relief which flooded Sirius' face. "Now, I am sure that Arabella would appreciate it if you sat down and stopped terrifying her cats."

The younger man collapsed backwards into the ancient chair which squatted on the carpet like some kind of malformed demon. Immediately, a tabby sprang onto Sirius' lap, and, in barely seconds, fell into a deep and noisy sleep. Dumbledore took the seat across from him and waited, watching with amusement the interplay of expressions on Sirius' pale face.

When Sirius finally gave up trying to dislodge the sleeping creature, and sat back, exhaling in exasperation, Dumbledore interlocked his fingers, and, gazing over them at the other, he asked, "Are you enjoying it here?"

"You mean, actually sleeping in a bed? Well, it's a nice change. And Arabella seems determined to feed me every two hours, so I don't have to scavenge." Sirius grinned up through his uneven black fringe, looking more like the young man he had once been than ever. "But, Sir, did you only come here to frighten me out of my wits, then check that Arabella isn't making me sleep in the garden shed?"

Dumbledore laughed, thinking how little, and yet how much, the last fourteen years had changed the intense-eyed man who now sat before him from the impetuous Marauder of long-buried memories. However, his face quickly sobered, and he looked at Sirius with a grave look.

"Alas, I am not. I must ask you not to grow too fond of the quiet life, for I fear that I must soon tear you from it. The school needs more protection than that which it currently enjoys. In fact, it needs as much as possible. I must ask you for your help in this.

Sirius remained silent, his heart galloping in fear, although he could not have said what in Dumbledore's proposal he dreaded so much. Tapping one foot nervously, he waited for the silver-haired figure to elaborate.

"I urge you to become a protector, using the skills from your Auror training, from your Animagus transformation, and the harsh lessons which you learnt in Azkaban, to patrol the boundaries, particularly the Forbidden Forest. I am assured you have plenty of experience dealing with the less friendly inhabitants," the headmaster said with a chuckle.

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't see how I could do this. I can hardly walk around Hogwarts as Sirius Black, convicted criminal and Death Eater," he replied grimly, his face darkening, "and what use can I be in my Animagus form? I can tear out the throat of a Deatheater, and much as I enjoy that thought, it'll be of limited use against an army, and of less use than one fully capable wizard against any enemy."

Dumbledore sighed, and sat back in the chair, carefully framing an answer which would explain his complex thoughts.

"I am employing others to care for the strengthening of the wards and such things. What I require from you, if you accept this, is your talent in spotting danger, in detecting subtle changes which perhaps only an Animagus could. I also need you to protect Harry. This year will be particularly difficult for him, and he needs someone who will keep him safe above all things, on whom he can rely with his whole heart."

At this, Sirius leaned forward urgently.

"What? What's wrong with Harry? Tell me. Please."

Dumbledore suddenly looked frail and extremely tired.

"There is not much I can tell you, and much is hidden from me. What I can say is what you already know: Voldemort seeks a way to break our wards in him, and will do anything to achieve that end, employ any force imaginable. What I also fear is the burden which this places on the child; where that may lead is hidden in shadow, even from my eyes," Dumbledore responded, his last words barely audible.

Sirius' eyes grew deep and foreboding, and, when he eventually spoke, his voice carried a tremor of some dark emotion.

"Professor Dumbledore, are you sure about this? I'll do anything you believe will help Harry, but I don't think I'm the best person to do that." His voice dropped a tone, and his face twisted in bitterness. "I have not dealt with responsibility well before."

A vision of Lily and James crumpled up into pitiful heaps of flesh and cloth swept through his mind.

Dumbledore leaned forward, and placed a comforting hand on Sirius' arm, his eyes blazing with blue fire.

"Sirius, I know what I need to about your competence. As to your doubts, sometimes the wisest among us cannot see what is before his eyes. You will be the best protector for Harry. Only you can he trust enough for that task."

With an uncertain smile, Sirus looked up at the old wizard. Although doubts still danced and whirled through his mind, he nodded mutely, unwilling as ever to face the threat of disapproval in those benevolent blue eyes.

Dumbledore beamed in response, and remarked, "Well, I believe I shall see …ah, Padfoot in my office next week. The password is honeycomb."

With those words, the conversation seemed to be sealed, with all its unspoken hopes and unspeakable fears.

Together, Dumbledore and Sirius paced the hall to Arabella's front door. They stood silently in the dusty, autumnal sunlight streaming though the glass panels, each locked in his own gloomy thoughts. With a sigh, Dumbledore turned to the younger man, and, in a voice drained of all humour, said, "There are so few of us who both can, and will, help Harry in the fight we must surely face. He has enough faith in you that may be the one who can, when all else fails."

Then, soundlessly, he was gone, leaving behind only twinkling dust in the tired light, and Sirius, isolated with bleak memories of the past, and dismal imaginings of the future.

TBC

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Short, I know, but I wrote it on the train with an Elrond plot bunny sitting on my shoulder.

Flames will be used to destroy this evil computer which ate some of my fic. *grr* Positive reviews are like oxygen. 


	5. Encounter

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Shadowed Souls

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Chapter 5

If you are a lawyer, and want disclaimers, go see earlier chapters.

A/N: For the purposes of this story, McGonagall now knows about Sirius.

A/N2: Parts of this chapter are sort of flashbacks to Sirius' reunion with Harry. You should be able to see the parts I mean. I just didn't want to break up the narrative flow by writing *flashback*.

Reviewers: I can't say how much I'm grateful for the feedback. 

Farewell: yeah – more elrond fic Monday/Tuesday *goes gooey at the knees at the thought of Peredhel elf lord*. He won't leave me alone, not that I'm complaining *grins wolfishly*.

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A low figure slunk from one pool of gloom to the next. Miserable drizzle blanketed the village, soaking the coat of the dog, which merely crouched lower to the ground, and continued in its steady trek. To Sirius, the weather scarcely mattered, for it matched his mood. He had spent the day following a set of tracks, with an uneasy feeling lurking in the back of his mind, acting on pure instinct, only to be distracted by his own recollections. The turmoil of his thoughts had destroyed his concentration, and forced him to turn back.

He was disappointed with himself, furious with the world, hungry, and in desperate need of human companionship. Throughout the long trudge back to Hogsmeade, the image of a pair of gentle arms encircling him, of a set of ink-stained fingers tenderly stroking away the lines of worry, relentlessly encroached upon the borders of his mind. The Animagus determinedly pushed them away. He refused to yield to the sweet temptation of futile hope and dreams which must be forgotten.

Now, he loped a little faster, knowing that soon he would reach the pitiful shelter of the Shrieking Shack, and Sirius' thoughts once more began to drift. Firmly steering them away from tantalising images of Remus, he found himself dwelling on Harry.

His godson had been ushered into Dumbledore's office by a poker-straight McGonagall, while Sirius sat nervously in a chair. The boy looked convinced that something awful was about to happen, his pale face set, a stubborn light in those green eyes.

The first thing that Sirius noticed was how much Harry had grown over the summer, his limbs lengthening, becoming increasingly like James. But then, Sirius saw, with mounting horror, the deep sadness of grief, the wary foreboding mirrored in the emerald depths, and he knew that this was no child that he had pledged his blood and breath to protect, but a soul older than his own.

As if compensating for the flood of emotion which engulfed him, Sirius swept the embarrassed boy into a bear-hug, crushing his ribs with a tight hold.

Dumbledore had stood back, watching as Sirius clutched his godson's forearms, searching the wearied features with his eyes. The Animagus' heart sank at the fear which he saw reflected there. Suddenly, he no longer saw Lily's eyes as he most remembered them, but instead a gaze which conveyed the panic and angry determination which had lit her stare in those last, feverish days. It was not an expression which Sirius had ever wanted to see again, and to find it in the eyes of his godson was almost unbearable.

Nevertheless, Sirius had smiled, and filled the room with warm laughter and smiles, despite the tension which crackled in the air and seared his very being with ferocity. Then, slipping back to the Shrieking Shack, he had kicked the walls with such savage anger that the timber groaned. Once more, he pledged his vengeance, now not just for his best friends broken bodies and his own wasted years, but for the stolen youth of this child whom he loved as a son.

If a dog could stomp, Padfoot stomped through the unremitting rain, caught up in his own seething fury at the world which had, through harsh necessity, deprived him of his lover, and was now trying to deprive him of his godson. Inky water drenched his paws, and slush spattered his heavy fur. Concentrating as he was, he did not observe his surroundings until it was too late to flee.

A flicker of motion caught his attention. Startled, Sirius looked up at the figure moving through the dusk of Hogsmeade only a score of metres distant. A few drops of rain glistened in brown hair as the man balanced a bag of shopping in one hand, and a heavy sack in the other, pulling a worn cloak tightly around the slender body. It was Remus.

Sirius could feel the chasm opening up within him, as his treacherous heart skipped beats. His hackles rose in blinding fear, and the edges of his vision blurred. He wished only for oblivion, but he could not stop staring at the figure before him.

Hungrily, he absorbed all the werewolf's features, soaking up every detail. With an agonising stab, he realised just how much he had missed _his _Remus, not just these last few months, but during all those tortuous years in Azkaban. All it would take was to move towards Remus, and to touch his face to the side of one of those legs, and look up, imploring acceptance…

"No!" he muttered sternly to himself in the darkness and solitude of his own mind, drawing back once more from the warm sunlight. "I must be strong. I shall not destroy him for the sake of my own selfishness."

Yet, still, he remained transfixed, unable to turn away from the sight before him.

He drank in the pale face framed by dark, damp hair.

He winced at the deep circles under the sombre grey eyes, at the lines of misery and despair written firmly on that fragile face, never imagining that he himself might be the cause of such great anguish.

He noted with alarm the faint tremor which ran through one hand, as it brushed thick hair from the high brow.

He smiled with pride at the stubborn set of the fine jaw.

He quivered as he stared at the sensitive mouth set in a harsh, uncompromising line.

Such was his longing that he moved slightly forward, leaving the shadow in which he had been concelaed. Instantly, the werewolf tensed. He swept the street with his eyes, poised for flight, then he caught sight of the dog. Remus' eyes widened in recognition, and one hand flew to his chest. For what seemed like an age, the man and dog simply remained as they were, absorbed in each other.

Then, Remus shook himself almost imperceptibly, and, shattering the moment, clutching his burdens with white-knuckled hands, hurried off down the street.

Finally, the heavens opened, and torrential rain cascaded down upon the black dog, which trembled, leaning against a wall, oblivious to everything. Only one question consumed his thoughts.

"Why is he here?"

With that, Sirius set off towards Hogwarts at a dead run, determined to find an answer.

TBC

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Next chapter tomorrow.

Positive reviews make me giddy *does a silly dance*. 

Oh – does anyone fancy doing a little beta-ing for this fic? Trying to be my own beta makes the writing process about twice as long.


	6. Wisdom and Foolishness

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Shadowed Souls

Chapter 6.

You know where to find all the disclaimers.

Chocolate tree decorations to all reviewers.

Pie: Thank you so much for the offer. You may get the new chapter soon (once I've dealt with a side-issue called work).

Farewell: I've just watched Priscilla – gaah. Hugo Weaving *goes into a dead faint*. I spent so much of the film wanting to hug him (and other things… *grins*).

A/N: Bit like _*this* _ is Sirius' thoughts.

The huge black dog stalked through the deep chill of the Hogwarts corridors, thundering past a pair of second years sneaking out of the Hufflepuff dormitory, who shrank back against the wall at the palpable aura of menace which flowed with it. Pausing to ensure that he was not seen, the Animagus quickly resumed his human form to mutter the password at the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Returning to canine guise for the sake of security, he bounded up the moving staircase, leaping steps, and crashed through the doorway. Immediately, he transformed, rising from a crouch, out of breath, to regard the other occupant of the room.

"Sirius, how can I help you?" Dumbledore asked mildly, looking up from the pile of scrolls on his desk, as if nothing out of the usual had occurred.

"You never told me that Remus was here. I presume that he is one of your … your sort of Aurors protecting Hogwarts … He is here."

"Actually, I believe he is living in Hogsmeade," the Headmaster replied, with a glimmer of amusement.

"You know what I damn well mean. I had to find out by seeing him in the street. You should have warned me. It changes the whole idea of my being here. It … it … it was unfair not to tell me…" Sirius' trailed off, arrested by the stern expression on Dumbledore's face. "I'm … I'm sorry, Sir, it's just that it was a rather unpleasant shock."

Dumbledore motioned for Sirius to sit, and he hunched his long frame into one of the comfy chairs.

"Sirus, I must confess that it did not occur to me to tell you. I rather presumed that you knew of Remus' appointment, or would at least have guessed," he sighed.

"I can't imagine why anyone would make that assumption," Sirius snapped. "We have not been close for over a decade: it is hardly likely that we would share the mundane details of our lives. Nor can I see that there is any reason why I should think that there would be any reason why I should think that he would be here. I presumed that Jeremiah Silvering and Sarah d'Etoile would be the natural choices …"

He slid deeper into the chair, a restless expression shadowing his face, as Dumbledore contemplated his own hands on the desk before him.

"Surely you realise that Remus Lupin is one of the foremost experts in Defence against the Dark Arts. He would have been a great Auror. He was an even better teacher." Sirius blushed, as he realised that his own desperate agitation had provoked him to denigrate his old lover. The Headmaster continued, "As such, I could hardly afford not to use his skills in defending the school. He has bolstered the wards considerably."

Dumbledore gazed thoughtfully at Sirius, who looked even more acutely miserable with every word.

"Sirius, is there anything which you would like to discuss? I find it unusual that you are not talking to Remus."

Hurriedly, the Animagus shook his head, prepared to deny with every breath that anything was amiss with the situation. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's mild stare undid Sirius' intentions. He considered fleeing, escaping the now inevitable confessions, but, at length, he sighed, and began picking at a loose piece of upholstery on the chair's arm.

"I don't think I can work with Remus," he began, hesitantly. "We aren't … friends any more. I find it … disconcerting that he's here."

__

*I won't be able to think straight when he's in the room. Every time I see him, it makes my brain burn. To know that I exist in such darkness when the light is close at hand is such misery*

The Headmaster merely nodded, and Sirius felt drawn to continue, compelled to tell the sympathetic old man what was bothering him. Not for the first time, Sirius mused that Dumbledore did not need the Imperius to persuade others to do exactly as he wished.

"I … I don't know how much you care to remember about out time at Hogwarts. In our fifth year - oh, God, this is hard to explain – Remus and I … well, we kissed. And then … then we became lovers. We were lovers until Lily and James died, and I was sent to Azkaban." The last few words were uttered in a soft mutter, barely more than a breath of air.

"Yes, I know. After all, you were rather inseparable," laughed Dumbledore, making Sirius bang his head against the back of his chair as he looked up suddenly. "And this is the problem? What was once, and is no more, has soured any possibility of friendship? That, indeed, would be a shame."

Sirius could swear that he could detect a distant twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he spoke those words.

"Yes … No … oh hell! I still love him. I think I always will. With him here, I feel on the verge of tearing myself apart, with my emotions asking me to do first one thing, then another. I don't believe I could work, or even think. But I can't be with him. It wouldn't be right. He deserves better. I will not … I should not…" Sirius replied agitatedly.

"Far be it for me to interfere," murmured Dumbledore, "but Remus still does love you."

No he doesn't, not really," said Sirius, with an impatient gesture of one hand. "He thinks he does, but he doesn't really love me. To think that he might would be absurd. He's just far too kind-hearted to notice that he only loves a spectre, a young man I can scarcely remember being."

Dumbledore sat lost in thought for a few minutes, then rose.

"I cannot change your mind, Sirius. But I trust that you WILL be able to work together or at least near to each other. Hogwarts needs the skills of you both."

Sirius nodded, conceding defeat, too numb to put up much resistance against the force of personality of the older man, and slipped from the room.

Dumbledore walked contemplatively back to his desk. Sighing, he observed his Pensieve for a minute, dipping his wand into it. The silvery liquid swirled, and then revealed the image of two laughing figures, arms around each other's waists, blue eyes meeting grey, oblivious to all else.

"You are blind, Sirius Black," the old wizard whispered to the empty air, "so very blind."

TBC

Positive feedback is like back-to-back viewing of Hugo Weaving films (I really have him on the brain).


	7. Tea with the Werewolf

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Shadowed Souls

Chapter 7.

If you haven't found the disclaimers yet, you're reading this story in a very odd way indeed *grins*.

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A/N: Once again, chocolate tree decorations to all reviewers (and a chocolate elfie to Farewell).

I'm so, so sorry that I haven't posted in ages. First, I was kidnapped by the Elrond plot bunnies, then my muse decided to go on a Christmas holiday. 

This was written in a hurry, as it's 22:15, and I have to be up at 3:30 tomorrow morning to catch a flight to Prague. Hopefully I'll come back with a new chapter as a Christmas present for you all.

Pie: Sorry I couldn't get this to you for beta-ing. Just not enough time. Uck, 3 in the morning should only be seen when you've been awake all night.

Farewell: Hee hee. I have another Elrond fic up: Desolation (self-promotion? Moi?). I'm also suffering from serious Hugo withdrawal due to not being able to see TTT until after Christmas.

Now, the fic…

"Nah, it has to be Cockroach Cluster. Just imagine the look on his ugly mug."

The clear, mischievous voice penetrated Remus' grim thoughts. Lifting his gaze from the contemplation of his meagre change, he saw Harry, Ron and Hermione standing only a few yards away.

"What has to be Cockroach Cluster?" he asked, amusement dancing across his face.

Harry spun around, then cried, "Professor Lupin."

Hermione and Ron followed him as he wandered over. The youngest Weasley boy grinned maliciously.

"We were trying to think of a Christmas present for Snape," he replied.

"Ah, yes," the werewolf chuckled. "As I am no longer your teacher, I can tell you that one year when I was at school, we tried to give him one of the young Mandrakes."

"You could have been seriously hurt," Hermione gasped, raising one hand to her mouth. Ron gave her a scornful look.

"What happened?" he inquired eagerly, hoping for useful tips on how to avoid the Potions test the following morning.

Remus pretended to sigh.

"Alas, the Herbology teacher saw us when we had to take the Cloak off to manoeuvre the Mandrake, and we never got to see what would happen."

Ron looked more than a little deflated at this outcome.

As they chattered, Remus became aware of the bitter cold of the wind which swept over the sea from the Arctic. Glancing down at his hands, he saw that the skin under his nails was white. Shifting his attention to Harry, he realised that the boy's lips were turning a vivid shade of blue. Remus cursed the Durselys for their arrogance and stupidity as he studied the thin lines of Harry's face, and the uncannily slender wrists.

Smiling gently, Remus said, "This cold is rather too much for me, I fear. Would you like to have tea?"

The trio nodded eagerly, glad for the invitation, although Ron mumbled that he would much prefer a Butterbeer, and they hurried off down the street.

Remus led them up a shadowy alley, and into his dingy flat. Closing the door behind him, shrugging off his threadbare cloak, he suddenly frowned at Harry, who merely gave him a questioning look.

"Should you be in Hogsmeade?" Remus asked in a grave voice.

"Why shouldn't I?" Harry responded lightly, but there was a steely note in his voice, and a mulish expression on his face.

"Harry," Remus said warningly. "You know that Voldemort" – Ron winced – "is searching for you, and that we have not identified all his supporters. Places like Hogsmeade could be very dangerous."

"That's what I said," Hermione interjected, but she was quelled by the look on her friends' faces.

"It's not any more dangerous than Hogwarts, with Malfoy slinking round all the time," Harry said quietly. "Anyway, Dumbledore hasn't stopped me yet, so I'm going to have fun while I've got some freedom left."

He forced a smile.

Once again, Remus was reminded of how different this child was from James, despite appearances. The sad sobriety, the weight of destiny in those green eyes ill-befitted a child. Silently, he damned Voldemort for placing such a heavy burden on the shoulders of Harry, of all that was left of James and Lily.

With a smile just as desperate as Harry's, he clasped one hand briefly on the boy's shoulder, and said, "Quite right. I must apologise."

With that, he set about the task of making tea.

Harry wandered curiously around the flat. Grey wallpaper peeled in uneven strips which hung from the dusty walls like wilted leaves in autumn. A long crack ran from the ancient carpet to the damp-ribbed ceiling. The furniture was sparse and battered, the curtains ragged. Books of every description, looking out of place in the dingy space, as if they were only a patina laid over the unrelenting poverty, crowded every available surface, piled on chairs and beneath them, stacked against the walls, heaped haphazardly in the middle of the room. The ceiling was so low that Remus and Ron had to duck their heads as they moved around. Over everything there hung an unmistakable pall of desolation.

Remus noticed Harry's look, and smiled wryly, pushing back a fleeting feeling of self-pity.

"Ah, I see you have noticed some of the more interesting … alterations made by previous inhabitants. It does remind me of the Shrieking Shack."

Harry blushed at being caught, and sat in silence as the older man gathered up tea things, boiling the kettle with one tap of his wand.

"And I believe it will be a Butterbeer for you, Ron?" he asked, with a hint of a sly smile flickering across his tired face. There were, after all, some advantages to being a werewolf, uncannily acute hearing among them. 

Ron gaped like a fish until Hermione kicked his shin, then nodded mutely.

As they sipped their drinks, thawing out their fingers, Harry remembered something.

"Professor Lupin…"

"Please, call me Remus, as I no longer teach you."

"Well … Remus, um … did you know that Sirius is here?"

The werewolf stiffened, and, momentarily, something dark gleamed in his wistful grey eyes. His hand, reaching for the teapot, shook ever so slightly. When he spoke, his voice was monotonous, grim and controlled.

"Yes," he bit out. "I know."

Harry was surprised to here the distress in those harsh syllables, instead of the warmth he had expected.

"Did Dumbledore tell you he is here?"

"No," Remus hesitated. "No. I met him in the street."

"Really?" Harry brightened visibly at this news. "Was it recently? How is he? I haven't been able to speak to him for ages."

"I don't know how he is."

A very perceptive observer might have been able to discern a slight tremor in Remus' voice, a quiver as he avoided speaking Sirius' name.

"But why ever not?" burst out Ron.

Tea slopped from Remus' tightly grasped cup.

"It was not an appropriate time," he whispered almost inaudibly, gaze fixed on the flood of tea in his saucer, hair shading his eyes from scrutiny.

"But why?" asked Harry, confusion clearly written across his face.

"Naturally, he was in his Animagus form. I could not conduct a conversation with a dog in the middle of Hogsmeade."

"You could have brought him here," Ron exclaimed inopportunely.

Remus blinked back tears, praying that they would go unnoticed. He sat as he was for some time, his thoughts seeming to be mired in some impenetrable substance. Finally he cautiously replied, "Sirius and I are colleagues. There is no reason for him and me to have contact outside of our work. He would not wish to be here any more than I would wish to bring him here."

"But … him … you … my dad … you were all friends. What happened? WHY aren't you talking to him?"

Thinking of that dreadful night when he had lost all hope, Remus fixed his eyes on the carpet's hideous pattern, trying to quell the nausea which rose up inside him.

"That was fifteen years ago. Things change, Harry, and what has passed cannot be undone." The lines of worry and frustration deepened on his face. "We are no longer friends." 

Harry made an inarticulate noise, but he caught Hermione's withering glare, and subsided.

"Anyway," Remus remarked, "tell me how Quidditch is going."

The rest of the conversation was stilted, confined on one side by bafflement and the other by sweeping misery. 

Finally, as the sun lowered into the west, the students gathered up their cloaks, and shuffled out into the dimly lit street, burying their hands in their pockets. As they walked back to the main thoroughfare, Harry cast a glance sideways at his former teacher. Remus' mouth was set in a straight line, his lips blanched. A deep furrow divided his eyebrows, and, beneath them, the grey eyes glittered strangely. Weariness marred every feature. Gazing hard at the sorrowful face, Harry saw the moisture beaded on the end of Remus' lashes.

At the end of the passageway, Remus bade them farewell, and, waiting until they had joined the milling crowd, turned. 

"Good afternoon, Sirius," he addressed the shadows icily. The figure of an enormous dog detached itself from the space between two dustbins. It briefly caught the man's eye, and then slunk passed him into the street, tailing the retreating trio. Remus sank to the filthy ground, his legs failing, and cupped his face in his furiously trembling hands.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"What was that all about?" asked Ron, as he stomped through the drifts of leaves.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione snapped irritably.

"If it was, I wouldn't be asking, would I?"

"Don't you see anything? Honestly! Boys!" she sighed dramatically.

"You're just saying that because you have to convince yourself that the great Hermione Granger is so superior to us petty mortals. I bet you don't know any more than we do," he accused.

"Oh for God's sake, can't you two stop arguing?" complained Harry, greatly filled with apprehension about both Sirius and Remus. "Hermione, if you tell us what's going on, we'll be able to sort this out."

She looked sceptical.

"I'm not sure we can." After a pause, she continued, "OK, I'll tell you, but not here. We have to go somewhere private this evening."

Harry and Ron exchanged an amused look at Hermione's sudden secrecy, but nodded, and they trudged back to the secure warmth of Hogwarts, their breath forming plumes in the freezing air.

TBC

Positive reviews are definitely festive.


	8. Photos and Realizations

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Shadowed Souls

Chapter 8. 

Joyeux Noel (or Joyeux non-Noel) to all reviewers.

Gracie: yeah, it's not nearly so much fun to write about perfectly balanced people in situations without any angst-potential either. I hope you enjoy more Herm in this chapter.

Pip, Pie, Lady of the Duindain, Ryuen, Queen Smithy, white owl, Marauder etc – thank you so much for the reviews. They always provide me with useful food for my muse, which is very narcissistic *pats muse on the head*

Farewell: hee hee. I'm back from Prague with a tiara (only cheap, but still…) so I can nance round pretending to be Celebrian *bounces up and down* Yet more Elrond-fic (my muse is as focused on seeing TTT as I am) – Starlight on Western Seas.

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A/N: This is sort of an interlude while I write my big chapter which will feature angst! near death! and Voldemort! *evil laughter*

A mop of red hair emerged into the emptiness of the room. Swiftly following it, three sets of flailing limbs appeared. Ron cursed vividly. Hermione tripped over the hem of her robes. Harry rubbed one eye ruefully.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron hissed. "I think that Cloak's shrinking. Between you and Hermione there was no room left for me."

"Don't be so stupid, Ron," Hermione snapped. "We were fine. You were the one who kept poking his elbow in my…"

Ron flushed scarlet and interrupted Hermione's rant with a horrified coughing fit.

"Anyway," Harry said quickly, before the moment degenerated into chaos, "why don't you tell us what you know, Hermione? We really need to help Sirius."

Hermione shuffled impatiently, looking at the boys perched on the desks before her.

"You mean you still haven't guessed? You've had the whole evening."

"Will you stop saying things like that," complained Ron, scuffing the floor with the tip of one dusty shoe.

"But it's obvious. How could you not see it?" replied Hermione angrily, scowling at the redhead.

Harry began to lose his temper.

"What's obvious? What is it? What do you think is going on?" he demanded impatiently.

Hermione sighed dramatically and settled back against the scarred wood of the desk.

"They've had a fight," she declared.

"So what?" asked Ron grumpily.

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. He stared at her with worry clearly visible in the depths of his green eyes.

"But why? Why would they argue? It doesn't make any sense," he blurted out.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Remus…" she answered slowly. "Remus is in love with Sirius."

Harry looked at her in amazement, his mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish.

"But … but … how?" he stuttered.

Ron shot up from the desk, his gawky limbs unfurling like those of a particularly ungainly giraffe.

"You're nuts," he yelled. "I've thought you were for ages, but now I know it. You're absolutely, certifiably bloody nuts."

Hermione stared at him with a stony look upon her face, and opened her mouth to speak, but Harry was quicker.

"Just shut up 'til Hermione has explained, please, Ron," he insisted.

"'Til I've explained what?"

"Why you think this … that … that Remus loves Sirius."

"'Cause she's strange," Ron said crossly, still smarting from Harry's rebuke.

Hermione shot him a look of pure venom and scorn.

"I'm not being strange, Ron," she paused. "It's just the way he looked … the expression on his face when Harry mentioned Sirius. I can't explain it. I just knew."

Ron shook his head slowly, an expression of exaggerated confusion plastered across his features, but Hermione stubbornly persisted, "Remus is in love with him."

Turning to Harry, the redhead exclaimed, "Great. Now we're supposed to trust female intuition. God, Hermione, you're getting just like my mum."

But Harry was gazing blankly into space, eyes fixed on something the others could not see. Abruptly, he started from his seat, and headed for the door at a run. Ron and Hermione exchanged dubious glances, but they soon followed him, with the discarded Cloak draped across Hermione's arm.

Thundering through the echoing corridors, they skidded to a halt at the faintest suggestion of the glimmer of Mrs Norris' unearthly eyes. Breathing heavily, they crammed themselves into a dusty cupboard, tripping over piles of textbooks and fractured cauldrons. Hearts thudding, they waited in trepidation for discovery. When no angry footsteps stormed along the corridor, they slipped from their hiding place, and made their way cautiously back to Gryffindor.

In the common room, by the dying embers of the fire, they found Harry. His untidy hair fell into his eyes as he hunched over a heavy, leather-bound book. Drawing nearer, they realized that it was the photo album which Hagrid had given him.

"What is it?" Ron inquired, his voice unusually subdued.

"This," muttered Harry, his intense concentration never leaving the page. Hermione and Ron shuffled as near to him as they could, leaning over his shoulders to peer at the album.

It was a shot of the Marauders and Lily from their final term. Peter bobbed nervously in and out of the frame, hopping from one foot to the other, as if afraid of the photographer. In the foreground were Lily and James, sitting on a picnic rug, surrounded by the ruins of a meal. Their hands were entwined, and her head was resting on his shoulder. Behind them stood Sirius and Remus. To a casual observer, there was nothing out of the ordinary in this: they were merely two friends crowding close together to fit in a photo. But Sirius' hand crept softly around Remus' waist, pulling the fairer boy to him. A small smile of bliss crossed Remus' face, and leaning into the embrace, he smiled contentedly, all worry fleeing. Sirius looked at the closed eyes with an expression of utmost tenderness, which the students had never expected to see upon his face.

"I think that Hermione may be right," Harry said in a shocked voice.

"Umm hmm," Ron replied, nodding, his eyes wide with amazement.

Hermione allowed a little triumphant satisfaction to seep into her expression. As one, she and Ron moved to sit in the chairs beside Harry.

"This certainly explains things," Ron said, although a hint of uncertainty still tainted his voice.

Harry stared at his hands glumly in the flickering light of the fire. In the stillness, they heard, somewhere far away, the dull crash of a heavy object hitting the floor, and, further still, the mournful cry of an owl hunting.

They waited in silence for what seemed like an eternity, until Hermione shifted uncomfortably, and said, "So what do we do now?"

Harry looked at her, his eyes as hard as agates in his deathly pale face.

"I don't think we can do anything," he replied somberly, each word leaden.

"Why not?" Hermione's voice rose shrilly with anger, indignation coursing across her face. "We have to do something. They can't just go on like this. It'll kill them both."

Her voice suddenly dropped to an awed whisper.

"Sirius loves him too. That picture…" she trailed off, but then rallied. "We can't … we mustn't allow it to go on. It shouldn't be this way."

"You've gone daft, Hermione, you know that? Now it's all flowers and pretty birds," Ron said sarcastically, although as he glanced at the photo, his face too, softened, and his eyes grew dark. Hermione was oblivious to the change.

"You're so … so mundane," she whispered angrily. "You can't think of anything beyond the next meal."

Ron stood, his face clashing vividly with his hair, mouthing silently with fury and indignation, but the livid silence was broken by the next words Harry uttered, and their quarrel was quickly forgotten.

"I know what you mean, Hermione," he said in a gloom-ridden voice, "But we can't do anything. There's nothing we can do. Whatever we try will fail, and only make things worse."

Ron and Hermione stared at Harry. They saw, as if the first time, the troubled swirl in the green eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the fear and despair rising in his face.

" We can't do anything," he repeated. "We can't meddle. If we try, we don't know what'll happen."

"But…" Hermione began. For once it was Ron who kicked _her_ in the shin.

The three looked at each other, weighing the issue which lay between them, and then Ron and Hermione nodded, swayed more than anything by the sorrow reflected in their friend's eyes. With heavy footfalls, they returned to their dormitories, and lay sleepless until the dawn.

TBC

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A/N2: I hope that no-one thought Ron was being homophobic in this chapter, because that certainly wasn't my intention. I just wanted to show him as the least emotionally sensitive of the three, and thus as the last one to see the love between Sirius and Remus.

I would fly to the moon for reviews *grins*

I'm in a very silly mood.


	9. Argentum

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Shadowed Souls

Chapter Nine

Thanks again to everyone who reviews. I cannot describe how wonderful you are *sniffles*
    
Lady of Imladris: another Hugo fan! I spent this morning watching the Matrix Revisited while writing this fic.
    
Farewell: Oh dear. Reading your fic has made me want to read end-to-end LOTR slash. I've just gone and set up a group. I don't have time. I have to write a 15,000 word dissertation for which they definitely won't accept Haldir/Elrohir. Oh well, cute Elves, cute Animagi, cute werewolves. I can deal.

A/N: The key chapter. Woo hoo, it's done. Enjoy.

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Remus crashed to the ground, mud spattering his face, brambles catching in his disordered hair and ragged clothes. Pain ripped through him as his already bruised body hit the hard earth. Although his muscles protested, he pulled himself up and cannoned onwards, his weary mind fixed on the single thought that the pain which awaited him if he faltered far outweighed the dull ache of scrapes and bruises.

A tree loomed before him, and he swerved, the tangled branches clawing at the raw skin on the side of his face.

The ground was slippery before him, saturated by days of unceasing, dreary rain, transformed into thick, foul-smelling slime which clung to his boots and legs.

Remus slithered down a slick slope, and once again lost his footing. Somewhere amid the blur of pain, he was perversely glad that he was saved the effort of running down the slope.

At the bottom, he lay huddled, his knees drawn up against his chest, overcome with exhaustion, quite happy to surrender to oblivion. Slowly, duty and desperation reasserted themselves and he hauled himself to his feet, feeling fresh blood trickle into his right eye.

He stumbled onwards, his legs like lead, his throat burning with every breath. His world narrowed to the terror-struck pounding of heart, the hurried pace of his feet, and the deadly chanting of his pulse in the back of his head.

Dimly, he knew that his actions were futile, that with his wand crushed by a hulking foot he could never run fast enough to escape from his pursuers, yet he continued his headlong dash though the blind darkness. All that he wanted was to escape from this hell, this accursed land, this charnel house. The private forests of the Malfoy family towered around him, the bare branches menacing, and he only wished to leave them behind.

"If I must die, let it not be here," he whispered to himself in a cracked voice.

He cursed his bad luck in accepting this mission from Dumbledore, and the missteps which had led him to this.

Above all, Remus wished that Sirius were by his side, as he once had been, to give him the strength which he felt ebbing within him. Briefly, he conjured an image of Sirius, his blue eyes wide and smiling, black hair falling across his handsome face, but a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He remembered that Sirius was no longer his to draw comfort from. He pushed the enticing image from his mind, fighting against stabbing despair.

Swaying, he caught himself against the rough bark of an oak, and fixed his eyes ahead, only to find vicious fingers clamping into the flesh of his arms from either side.

A solid fist connected with Remus' skull, and livid patterns of green and red swam before his eyes. Consciousness faded into mist, and although he was still vaguely aware, he did not know what _of_, except for the unearthly sensation of Apparition.

Sight returned slowly, and once it had done so, Remus rather wished that the encircling darkness had claimed him.

He found himself slumped on the ground, his legs bound at the ankle and his arms at the wrist. Dragging himself upright until he was kneeling, he realised that in a circle around him stood perhaps ten eerie figures, masked, with cowls shadowing their faces. Somehow, Remus could _feel_ the expressions of malicious joy on their faces. The hair on the back of his neck rose in response.

Silence fell, deep and thick, punctuated only by the melancholy drip of the rain. The atmosphere was tense with foreboding, and the uneasy air of doom about to be fulfilled.

Soft footsteps, and the snake-like swishing of heavy robes were all the warning Remus got. A wrathful hand twisted itself into the thin fabric at his neck, hauling him to his feet. His heart pounding, the exhausted werewolf found himself gazing up into blazing red eyes which seemed to scour his very soul.

With a contemptuous flick of one wrist, Voldemort hurled him to the ground. Labouriously, Remus sat upright. Bracing his hands on his knees, he looked around stonily, his grey eyes glittering.

Voldemort approached him, a smile like the rictus of death playing around his lips and in the crimson eyes.

Holding Remus' chin between skeletal fingers and leaning so close that the werewolf would feel the Dark Lord's icy breath on his skin, Voldemort hissed, "I could offer you the choice between death and the glory of numbering yourself among my followers, but you would see an attempt to do so as an insult to your … ah … intelligence, would you not, child of the darkness?"

He laughed, cold and high, as Remus winced at the epithet.

"Yes, it is a pity that you did not choose to join me._ I_ would have given you a role to which you would have been admirably suited." Voldemort paused, and his voice, which had been lit by foul levity, became hard. "But Lord Voldemort does not give second chances. Now you will die in such torment that you will cry out and beg even for the pains which your precious friends underwent."

Voldemort stepped back, releasing Remus' face. The younger man struggled to his feet, fighting the revulsion which welled up inside him at Voldemort and at himself for Voldemort's reminder of what lurked within him.

"I resisted him, I resisted him, I always shall," he muttered to himself, clenching his hands into fists, his nails cutting into the palms of his hands. Warily, he watched the figures around him.

"But," Voldemort continued, and twelve pairs of eyes glinted hungrily behind their masks, "you will bend before me anyway. _Imperio_."

Everything was quiet and far away. Nothing mattered enough to do anything.

"Perhaps I misunderstood," thought Remus muzzily. "Perhaps he cast Avada Kedavra, and this is death."

But even in the midst of the gentle fog, a doubt worried at his mind. He began to concentrate on the insidious voice, whispering on the edge of hearing.

"Bow to me. Bow to your master."

"No." The word appeared in Remus' mind as if from nowhere. Remembering the long years when he had learnt to fight this curse, he struggled fiercely.

"No," he yelled hoarsely. "Why should I bow to you?"

The world rolled back in, and Remus was once again aware of the dried blood on his temple and the piercing thrill of terror. Briefly, he wondered what this must have been like for Harry. Sirius had wept into his shoulder as he told the full story, and now Remus' already smoldering rage was fanned into full flame by absolute contempt for anyone who would make a child suffer this ordeal. 

He stared at Voldemort with his gentle eyes almost black with fury. Remus knew that there was no hope that he would survive this day. There would be no happy ending for him. With detached bemusement, he thought that his entire life had led up to this moment, this calamity, this fate. It seemed so natural. He only hoped that he would not beg before the end.

Lifting his chin, he addressed Voldemort directly, his voice dripping with scorn.

"You," he proclaimed, "are worthless. You are nothing. You are lower than your unpleasant little pack of cronies. True greatness does not exist in this: in blood, in the dying screams of the innocent, in foolish grandeur that only destroys. You can be no more than the pathetic creature you are."

One of the Death Eaters, whom Remus thought was Lucius Malfoy himself, hissed angrily through his teeth.

"Are you so deluded by the words of that hapless wreck Dumbledore as to believe that the mightiest wizard ever is doomed to failure, wolf?" Voldemort asked.

"You will not win the war," Remus replied, surprising even himself with the unshakable confidence and calm of his voice. "Even if you did, you cannot create; it is not the nature of evil to do so, and so all your accomplishments will crumble into nothing, and be forgotten. One day even your name will not frighten children anymore."

He was silent for a heartbeat, contemplating the forest floor. Then he lifted his head and spoke in a clear voice which carried to all those present.

"And you will always remain Tom Riddle."

The expression which crossed Voldemort's face made even the Death Eaters shrink away.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he howled. He beckoned to one Death Eater who slipped from the ring and took off his mask. Remus' eyes widened as he recognised the pallid puffy features of his former friend.

"Hello … rat," he murmured quietly. 

Wormtail raised his wand in one trembling hand as his face contorted with hatred. A sly smile twisted his mouth.

"_Crucio_."

And it was as if the stars had gone out. Golden fire lanced across his skin. Liquid pain coursed though him, dissolving his bones and destroying his mind. He screamed and could not even hear his own voice. There was nothing but the pain and the void until Wormtail averted his wand.

Remus gazed up with pain-bleared eyes at the laughing figures surrounding him. At one sign from Voldemort, they began to close in on his hunched body. As one, they pointed their wands at him, and the steady stream of curses began.

Not all of them used the_ Cruciatus_, and blood began to pour from the myriad wounds on Remus' broken body, staining the ground around him. 

The tide retreated once more and Remus heard a voice.

"Shall I kill him now, my Lord? I beg for this honour."

Mute and weary, Remus waited for the command which would end his life.

"No," Voldemort said. "I believe that there is a far more interesting possibility."

He stepped forward, pointing his wand at the werewolf, and muttered words which Remus, caught in the tangled skein of pain, could not understand.

A glittering cloud shot from his wand and engulfed the prone figure. Immediately, it was as if thousands of needles were pricking at Remus' skin. He shifted at the discomfort, but, suddenly, felt searing agony begin to spread through him. Ugly red welts appeared on his fair skin, and his joints began to swell.

Forcing himself to scrutinise the hideous pattern, Remus finally understood.

"Silver," he whispered, and fainted, carried far away from the pain and the shadows.

Lucius Malfoy casually kicked the body.

"What shall we do with this … thing now, my master?" he asked.

Voldemort's face creased in a horrible mockery of a smile.

"Leave him at the gates of Hogwarts. Let him die at the feet of that fool Dumbledore. One might call it a warning shot from Lord Voldemort."

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Reviews are my alpha and omega *looks forlorn*


	10. Clarity and Confusion

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Shadowed Souls

Chapter Ten

*looks around* ooh, I've worried lots of people, haven't I?

Farewell: *dodges Arryn's ghost* please don't set the elfie on me. Please? I promise you another Elrond chapter very shortly.

FairyTale: thanks for the comments.

Pie: I get the picture. I hope I won't need a bullet proof vest.

Madkornfan: *catches the candy* humph, the dog ate my chocolate last night. Even more R/S for you.

SAP WARNING IN THIS CHAPTER *giggles*

Read on, don't give up hope yet. Chocolate werewolves to all reviewers.

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Dumbledore's expression was unusually grave as he crossed the lawns with a hurried stride. He had hoped that any harm to Remus Lupin could be avoided, even though he had volunteered to go alone to the Malfoy estate when no other had been free to accompany him.

The Headmaster sighed, his breath clouding the icy air. For months, rumours had been circulating of a planned attack on Muggle London. Snape had rushed into his office late that afternoon, wild-eyed and even paler than usual, to tell him that he had overheard Draco Malfoy boasting to other Slytherins that there would be a meeting at his house that evening. The main topic for discussion would be this atrocity.

Sirius had to remain near Harry in such troubled times, and Severus could not risk destroying his fragile disguise by being discovered sneaking around the Malfoy estate when he was already excluded from the inner circle. There was no one else available but Remus Lupin, who had insisted that he must go. Dumbledore had agreed. He might dislike sending anyone into such a situation, but this was the inevitable result of Voldemort's resurrection: that all other considerations would be subsumed to the paramount need to thwart him.

Dumbledore felt exhausted by the responsibility which now lay on his shoulders, the debilitating burden.

"So it starts again," he whispered. "One by one we must fall in a desperate attempt to protect our world. We must give everything to fight Tom Riddle. And now I must tell Sirius…"

Padfoot had curled himself into a tight ball of heavy black fur, his eyes resolutely shut, dreaming of silver moonlight glimmering on his back and a wolf running beside him.

Harry was safely in Gryffindor Tower, and for these few hours he could escape into dreams. Thus, it was only reluctantly that he awoke as Dumbledore called his name.

Focusing blearily on the Headmaster, he sprang to his feet as he saw the grim expression on that ancient face, and the steeliness of those blue eyes.

" We must hurry, Sirius," he said crisply. "I shall explain later. For now, you must follow me up to the castle."

He hurried back up the passageway, under the Whomping Willow towards the school. Sirius followed at his heels, oppressed by fear even in his Animagus form.

"_If it's Harry, I'll never forgive myself for resting,_" he swore to himself. There could be no doubt that the Headmaster in person would only summon him in the direst emergency. He railed at Dumbledore's pace, wishing that he could race through the corridors. He felt the erratic beat of his own heart, the flood of adrenaline through his veins. Time itself seemed to slow to a crawling pace.

Finally, when Sirius' temper hung by a thread, they reached the hospital wing.

"You may wish to resume your human form, Sirius," the Headmaster suggested.

The dog cocked his head quizzically.

"Oh," Dumbledore chuckled, although the sound seemed dry and weary. "Don't worry. There will be no students in here tonight. The hospital wing is strictly out of bounds for the moment. Nor will Madame Pomfrey disturb us. "

With only a slight hesitation, Sirius transformed.

"What … what is it?" he stammered, fear drenching his voice as it had the evening of the Triwizard Tournament. "Is it Harry? Is it an attack? What is it?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly, grappling with the words to tell Sirius what had befallen.

"Is it … is it…" Sirius tried to force the words out. "Is it Remus?"

"Yes," Dumbledore's voice was deep with barely contained sorrow and unending pity. "He was captured by Death Eaters."

All colour drained from the Animagus' face, and he swayed where he stood.

"Is he dead?" he asked quietly. 

"No. He's over there," Dumbledore replied, pointing to the far end of the ward. "But, Sirius…"

It was no use; Sirius was already sprinting down the room, his feet skidding on the polished floor. The old wizard followed at a more sedate pace.

Sirius looked down upon the slight figure on the bed, and felt tears begin to flow freely down his face. Remus' skin was waxen, the blue veins visible, crisscrossed by flaming red lines which seemed to cut into the flesh. His lips were a silvery blue, and his eyes moved restlessly beneath their lids. It was only that feverish flickering which reminded him that his beloved was still numbered among the living.

Sinking nervelessly into the chair set beside the bed, Sirius gazed up at the Headmaster who now stood beside him.

"What. Did. They. Do. To. Him?" he ground out between clenched teeth.

Dumbledore laid one hand on Sirius' shoulder before replying.

"It was a spell of Voldemort's own devising. It spread a fine silver powder throughout Remus' body."

A murderous flame lit in Sirius' eyes.

"It's poisoning him."

Dumbledore nodded.

"What's the cure?"

"Sirius, there is no cure."

"Don't be bloody stupid. There must be," the Animagus exploded.

Dumbledore squeezed the younger man's shoulder sympathetically, but his words were relentless.

"Believe me, Sirius. There is no cure. Not only is the curse unknown, but no-one has thought it desirable to cure a werewolf until now."

Sirius was silent, staring miserably at Remus.

"He's going to die?" he whispered hoarsely, looking at Dumbledore with piteous eyes.

"Yes," replied the old wizard, and there could be no mistaking the great grief shining in his eyes. "It could be hours, or it could be days, but he will die."

Desolation muted the colour of Sirius' eyes.

"Will you … will you leave me alone with him for a while?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded, and withdrew from the room.

Once more, Sirius slumped into the chair. He reached one shaking hand out and traced the austere line of Remus' jaw. His fingers tangled in the soft brown hair, and he noticed the strands of silver which spread beneath his fingers.

Even with the cruel marks cobwebbing Remus' face, Sirius could not help admiring the beauty before him: that stubborn mouth and the faint dusting of freckles across that high-bridged nose.

The realisation hit him like the end of the world, like the blind rage which had consumed him all those years in Azkaban: nothing mattered more than this.

Open-mouthed, he gaped into the far distance, enthralled by the truth he perceived by the first time.

"Remus," he murmured, "how can I not have seen this? How could I have cast you aside for a past we can't change and a future we can't know?"

His voice broke.

"Please forgive me."

His hand tangled once more in the silky hair, drawing it lovingly back from Remus' high forehead.

The werewolf stirred uneasily, and, mind still muzzy with sleep, nuzzled the hand which caressed the side of his face.

He reached up to grasp the wandering limb, pressing the callused skin against his own freezing flesh, disregarding the stabs of agony which the pressure caused.

"Remus?" Sirius asked, uncertainty catching in his voice.

With agonizing slowness, the werewolf escaped the bonds of sleep.

"Siri?"

"I'm here."

Remus released the hand as if it burned him.

"I … I apologize. I did not realise it was you."

They stared at each other across the unbridgeable chasm.

Remus broke the silence first.

"What are you doing here?" he inquired, trying to keep his tone conversational, despite the furious beating of his heart.

Affectionately, Sirius stretched out one hand to Remus.

"Dumbledore told me what had happened. How could I leave you, who I have shared so much with, alone now?"

Sirius cursed the inadequacy and clumsiness of the words almost before they left his mouth.

A spasm of pain wracked Remus' slender frame although an uncannily sweet smile graced his lips.

"Ah, I see. You pity me because I am dying."

"No. And you're not dying."

"Don't humour me, Sirius Black. I know perfectly well what's happening to me," Remus snapped. "I can feel it destroying me, cell by cell."

As if to emphasise his point, his pallid lips were gradually becoming stained with cruel scarlet blood.

"I never wanted your pity, Sirius: not for my lycanthropy, not for anything else. I wanted … I want your love for its own sake. If I can't have that…"

He trailed off, his breathing ragged, and lifted one desperately shaking hand slowly to brush away the glittering tear tracks on Sirius' cheek.

"I only want you to love me as I love you. I don't want you to sit here and hold my hand merely because you remember what there once was between us and pity my disintegration because of that," he said with a small smile, even though the effort left him gasping for breath.

"But I don't pity you. I love…" Sirius began.

"You said it yourself: that you are here because of what _was,_" the werewolf replied heavily, bowed down by the burden of emotion. "But thank you for trying anyway."

His eyes clouded with pain, and, averting his head, he slipped once more into unconsciousness. Sirius watched him sleep, brooding.

"Well that went well, Padfoot," he muttered to himself. "Did you really expect him to fall into your arms after that _lovely_ chat you both had last summer?"

He winced at the memory.

"'Oh, of course, Sirius, I believe you love me despite the fact that you keep changing your mind'," he mimicked. "Moron."

He cracked his head against the bedpost, then sat back, chewing his fingernails and cursing himself fluently under his breath. The guttering candles cast deep shadows across his face, reflecting in the midnight hair which fell across his furrowed forehead.

Finally, one single thought shook him from his malaise.

"He mustn't die," he whispered angrily. "I won't let him die."

He drummed his fingers restlessly on the arm of the chair.

"Ahh."

He sprang from the chair, pure determination settling across his features, and slipped from the room, forgetting entirely to resume his Animagus form. He moved stealthily through the dim corridors, his tattered black robe fading into the shadows, and headed determinedly for the depths of the dungeons. There was one person who could help. Even if he would not want to.

TBC

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*begs for feedback*

*cackles evilly* I told you not to give up hope yet…


	11. To the Very Gates of Hell

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Shadowed Souls

Chapter Eleven.

Sorry that this took so long to update. First, I had a crisis of faith in writing, and then I lost the Internet for a day and a half. Oh well, I hope this chapter was worth waiting for *looks pitiful*

QueenSmithy: Thanks for sending Crowley over to poke my muse *huggles demon*

Farewell: I'm sorry that I didn't get a new chapter of Suffering up for you to take to your parents' cabin. I promise you one any day now (actually, I have two chapters of that planned). Don't sic Arryn on me just yet … *evil grin*

Gracie: I think you'll have to get in line behind Siri to do nasty things to Sevvie.

FairyTale: *parries axe with wooden spoon* hmm, that didn't quite work, did it?

Ryoga Kitty: Hope the RL/SB obsession's still going strong.

Pie: *hides under the desk*

If I keep saying how lovely reviewers are, will you press the blue button? Well, they are anyway.

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A/N: OK, this chapter contains a little swearing, and some violence *smirks*

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A/N2: Thoughts are like _*this*_

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A/N3: I'm going to plug my first original fic here. I know it's shameless, but I feel like doing it anyway. It's Dreams and Daylight - http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1163280

Well, on with the chapter…

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As the door swung open, Severus Snape looked up from the pile of parchment before him, but even as he did so he was too late. His head cracked against the blackened stones of the wall behind him. Long fingers curled around his throat, the bitten nails digging ruthlessly into his flesh.

"I see that Azkaban only worsened your already atrocious manners, Black," he croaked between gasps of air. "I suppose this is about your little pet wolf."

The vice around his neck tightened inexorably until black spots danced and whirled before his dimming vision.

Eventually relenting a little, Sirius glowered at the Potions master pinned to the wall like some shadowy moth.

"If you kill me, you will have to watch him die," Snape wheezed, smiling maliciously at the panic which flamed in the pale blue eyes fixed on his face. "It's so terribly poetic, is it not, one creature of darkness being destroyed by others?"

He found himself being backhanded into the wall so hard that his teeth ground together like millstones. Dazedly, his black eyes met the arctic ones blazing mere inches away.

"Never call him that," menaced Sirius in a deadly whisper, "or I swear I'll put your eyes out, Death Eater."

With a contemptuous flick of his wrists, he hurled the other man into the edge of the desk.

Winded, bent double with the pain, Severus snarled, "You always did prefer to use force to get your own way."

"I only used it on you and your charming comrades, while you just liked to poison everyone in sight, didn't you? Now I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself with your foul concoctions. Cure Remus."

Straightening up, ignoring the searing pain which shot through him at the movement, Snape asked, "Why would I bother? Why should I help you and that worthless dog? What concern is it of mine whether you live or die?"

Sirius grasped Severus' right arm, ripping the sleeve open to the elbow to expose the ugly tattoo emblazoned on the white skin.

"If you don't help him, I'll make sure that the Daily Prophet knows about this."

"How?" Severus asked sarcastically. "I am a respected if not … ah … trusted member of the Hogwarts faculty, while you are a dangerous escaped convict, and Lupin is a nothing more than a beast. The world has finally seen you for what you are, Black. You can't act like you used to now."

Sirius bit his lip hard, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes.

Almost reflectively, Snape continued, "When he dies, will you follow him to the grave, Black?"

His eyes were as bright and dark as the void in his ascetic face. "What revenge I would have then for your delightful little plot against me!"

Sirius could not help it. Although no noise escaped him, a single tear slipped down his cheek, highlighted in the candlelight. Fear closed his throat and paralyzed his brain. The last grains of time slid between his clenched fingers as he railed against the bitterness which consumed him.

Snape noticed the misery of the other in a heartbeat.

"Oh," he mocked, "are you afraid for your lover? It must be difficult to persuade anyone new to warm your bed now."

Reaching behind him, Sirius casually weighed a heavy volume on rare poisons in one hand before hurling it at the Potions master. Snape only just ducked in time, and the tome grazed the top of his head.

"He is not my lover; he does not share by bed," the Animagus howled. "Don't judge me by your foul standards, you bastard. I'm not doing this for myself."

His voice dropped.

"I'm doing this for him."

"How touching. The third years would be melting in their seats at that sentimental revelation," Severus sneered. "I'm sure that Lupin will be charmed right out of his clothes when he hears it."

"He is unconscious; he never will," Sirius snapped, his face contorted with grief. "You know that as well as I, Snape."

The last word became a malevolent hiss of breath, like the death rattle of hope.

On the other side of the room, Snape straightened, his usual icy composure gliding into place like oil across water.

"You fool."

Sirius, who had been gazing intently at the tattered hem of his robes, jerked his head up.

"You fool," the other man repeated. "You asked me not to judge you by my standards; now I ask you not to judge me by your own idiotic ones."

Crossing the room with a leisurely gait, he pulled a single sheet of parchment from the neat pile, and thrust it at the baffled Animagus. Sirius took it automatically, although he eyed it as if he suspected that it would bite him as soon as he looked away.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I always knew that you had trouble reading Black," Severus replied. "Can't you cope without the werewolf to coach you in your alphabet?"

Sirius ground his teeth, and scrutinized the document.

It was an untidy mass of notations, the writing scrawled at all angles across the page. One phrase caught his gaze:_ the effects of silver on werewolves – c.f. 'The Second Treatise on Magical Beasts and their Origins' by D. Gamgast._

Confusion drove deep furrows between his eyebrows. His mind darted frantically hither and thither as myriad possibilities presented themselves. At one and the same time, he felt sick to the stomach, and as exhilarated as if the air itself were alive. Eventually, the chaos resolved itself down to one question.

Holding the parchment between quavering fingers, he asked, his voice hoarse with nervousness, "Is this the cure?"

An expression of disgust settled over Snape's features.

"Of course not, it is merely the beginning."

"But will it lead to the cure?" Sirius demanded urgently.

"Perhaps," Snape prevaricated.

"But why are you doing this?"

"I asked you not to judge me by your standards," he bit out, "Please do as I requested. Do not imagine that I am doing this for you or that mangy wolf; your misery would be a light in this pathetic world. I am doing this for myself. You may be happy to condemn others to death; I am not."

"You could have fooled me," muttered Sirius, his stare pointedly fixed on the Dark Mark revealed by the torn black sleeve.

Through the miasma of hate, Snape recognized the justice of this remark, and winced almost unnoticeably, but his voice was as smooth and devoid of emotion as ever.

"I did not expect you to understand. Indeed, I am rather glad that you do not."

He swept from the room, the black fabric billowing around him like the wings of a carrion bird. Sirius followed him with long, elegant strides.

As they sped through the murky corridors, the first glimmer of dawn shone on the uneven flagstones, but neither man noticed its wan glow, trapped as they were in their own cheerless thoughts.

Sirius felt blank and dazed, caught somewhere in the nightmare realm between hope and fear, but Severus was only too aware of his own mental turmoil. The flaming, undimmed hatred of the years flicked in his conscious mind, tempting him with sweet revenge on Black and Lupin. Yet though this fire a siren voice called to him, whispered in his ears. It sounded remarkably like Dumbledore. 

__

*If I just do this, I could strike a blow at Voldemort …If I just save the wolf, I would lessen the burden I bear…*

Resolutely setting his shoulders, he led the way to the deepest dungeon, far away from the prying eyes of the students, walking like a man facing his own death.

Suddenly, a fist shot out of the gloom and attempted to connect with the side of his head, but Severus had become far too accustomed to such assaults this night, and ducked. As Sirius ploughed his fist into the unyielding wall, the Potions master slipped under the raised arm, and pushed him face-first into the stone. He yowled with pain, and crumpled to the floor.

Snape stood over him, both fists balled by his sides, one foot on the other man's back.

"I would beware, if I were you, Black," he snarled. "My patience is not inexhaustible, and I may yet change my mind and decided not to help you."

Sirius struggled frantically, trying to right himself.

"Let go of me," he seethed. "Let go of me, you thug."

Reluctantly, the other man eased the pressure on the Animagus' back, allowing him to scramble to his feet, but he held his wand out threateningly, pointed at Sirius' chest.

"One false move, Black," he said sibilantly, "one false move…"

Sirius was flushed with barely controlled rage.

"Why did you taunt me like that?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me in the beginning that you were working on a cure? Was that your bloody twisted idea of a joke?"

Severus regarded him with impassive eyes.

"A joke? Hardly," he said with a mirthless laugh. "I merely thought that you needed to be taught a lesson. The world does not revolve around you. Even the golden Gryffindor can be as helpless as the rest of us _petty_ mortals. Especially _now_."

"Your _lesson_ could cost Remus his life, you overgrown snake."

"Only if you insist on delaying me, you fool," Severus rejoined acerbically.

As if it was a terrible effort to do so, the Animagus nodded his acquiescence, and once again followed Snape as they completed the journey to the dungeon.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

The ironbound door slammed closed, and Snape, now in his element, began to pull bottles and books from the shelves. Casually, flipping through one which had landed before him, Sirius flinched at the horrors depicted there. Catching this, Snape smiled cruelly.

"If you are so disturbed, Black, you do not have to remain here," he suggested maliciously.

"Do you think I'm mad? I'm not leaving you alone while you fiddle with your foul concoctions. God only knows what you might force poor Remus to drink," Sirius responded with a mock shudder.

Severus merely shrugged, and turned back to the business at hand.

"If you are going to continue to burden me with your presence, get the large cauldron from the corner, and pour the contents of the purple bottle into it."

Obeying, Sirius stared dubiously at a noxious looking substance with small creatures spinning in it, before removing the cork. A vile odour assailed his nostrils. Snape whirled round from his perusal of a dust-covered text.

"I said the purple _bottle_, you fool," he snapped, "not the bottle with purple _contents_. Do you wish Lupin to grow horns before he dies?"

Hurriedly, Sirius replaced the cork, and reached for the other bottle. Watching the liquid ooze into the cauldron, an unholy smile suddenly lit his face. _This might be one way to pass the dreary hours…_

"I expect your students will be delighted that you are … er … otherwise occupied today, and so they will be relieved of your presence," he remarked laconically.

"I suppose they will be," Severus returned icily. "Like you, they do not have the wits to appreciate this art."

Sirius idly twirled a dried newt between his fingers.

"But shouldn't a truly _good _teacher be able to inculcate his own enthusiasm in his students?" he asked, allowing just enough innocent confusion creep into his voice. Although terror still ate at him, he grinned as he saw Snape's shoulders stiffen.

*After all, why not keep the obnoxious little shit on his toes?* __

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

The dull red light of a glorious sunset spilled across the floor of the hospital wing as Sirius paced anxiously.

"When are you actually going to give him that stuff?" he demanded, hearing the catch of blind panic in his voice.

"When it is ready," Snape replied calmly, although he, too, was nervous at the outcome of this. To attempt such an ambitious project in such a short span of time had strained his talent to its limits. Wearily, he examined the roiling green potion in the tall flask. Nodding in satisfaction, he dropped a single sprig of birch into the mixture, and swirled it gently with the end of his wand. When the manic bubbles had subsided, he slipped one hand under the werewolf's head, and raised the glass container to the grey lips. The noxious-coloured mixture trickled down Remus' throat.

When all the liquid had gone, Severus replaced the flask on the small table beside the bed, and sat back to await the outcome, his hands folded patiently in his lap.

Almost fearfully, Sirius crept closer, his eyes wide and dark. Tenderly, he enfolded one of Remus' paper-thin hands in both of his own, caressing the knuckles with his thumb.

As if he had been hit by a curse, a paroxysm shook Remus' slight frame. Startled, Sirius jumped back, knocking the already battered chair to the ground with a great clatter. Another and yet another convulsion followed hard on the heels of the first. 

Sirius rounded on the calm Potions master, the pupils of his eyes almost entirely swallowing the blue. Livid anger raged in the blackness; anger which could destroy minds and cast down mountains.

"You're poisoning him, you evil bastard. I warned you not to try anything. What have you done to him?" he screamed.

He grabbed the high collar of Severus' robe in both hands, dragging him from the wooden chair.

"What have you done to him?"

He found a wand tip pressed into his ribs over his heart.

"Sit. Down. You. Fool," Severus spat. "I have done nothing to him. That is merely the effect of the potion working. Watch and you will see."

Keeping a firm grip on the other man with one hand, Sirius turned back to survey the bed warily. After ten minutes of seizures which wracked Sirius' heart as much as they did his beloved's body, Remus subsided into the soft pillows. 

Finally releasing Severus, Sirius crouched down by the bed, observing the languid rise and fall of the werewolf's chest. As he watched, a faint tide of the palest pink flooded into Remus' cheeks, illuminating those pale lips with the merest hint of colour.

Clutching one of Remus' hands, Sirius bowed his head over it, allowing tears to trickle freely from his eyes.

"When will he wake up?" he whispered.

"In about twenty-four hours," Severus replied, too tired even to retort with a sarcastic remark. He straightened his robes, scrubbing one exhausted hand over his face, and silently left the room. With no one to see, he allowed a small smile of triumph to twist his lips.

Barely able to stand under the weight of emotion, Sirius shuffled to a chair, always keeping his fingertips in contact with Remus' prone form. A song of joy rang through his mind, bright and brilliant as the dawn on a summer's day.

Knowing that he dared not do so once Remus had awoken, he cradled one fragile hand to his lips, whispering a mantra of love over and over again into the delicate skin.

As dusk faded into night, he sat there, drinking in everything which was Remus with his eyes, his soul flooded with delighted adoration.

__

*He is alive. What more could I ask?*

TBC

++++++++++ 

*stuffs bruised Sevvie in a box and sits on the lid*


	12. Revelations

                                                                                    **Shadowed Souls**

**Chapter Twelve**

Thank you every one who reviewed for being so kind.

Mystandmemory: Can I have Hugo Weaving now? *smirks*

Farewell: Finally this chapter popped into my head while Elrond and Celebrian were off some where else…

Star: *hands box with Sevvie in it over*

Pie: thanks for letting me off the hook.

I'm really sorry for updating less frequently.  Real life is getting in the way … ick … and my muse is fixated on elves.  There's only one more chapter to go now *weeps*

**A/N:** thoughts are like _*this*_.

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Stumbling along the corridor, a sudden flash of uneasiness swept through Sirius, as if someone had crept up behind him. He peered into the shadows.

"Who's there? If that's you, Snape, you can go away. I don't have time for any fun chitchat with you."

There was a barely perceptible movement, a rustling of cloth, and then Harry, Ron and Hermione stood before him, their robes askew, regarding him with worried faces. Indeed, he looked awful; dark circles spreading under his wearied eyes like ink on damp paper. The traces of tears stilled shimmered on his drawn cheeks.

"Is he dead?" Ron asked bluntly, and Hermione elbowed him hard for his lack of tact. "Uh … I'm sorry."

"No. He is alive … but … but…" he broke off.

"What is it?" Harry took a step forward.

"He will not believe me, he will not believe that I love him." Sirius' eyes widened, aghast at what he admitted to these children.

_*What will they think?*_

He waited for the blow to fall, for loathing to dawn in his godson's eyes, but Harry smiled softly, while Hermione could not restrain a cheshire-cat grin and Ron looked dumbfounded, but not displeased.

"So you do love him," the girl breathed.

Of course … but … but … What?" he stuttered in confusion.

"We _did_ guess," Hermione said acerbically.

"We saw the picture," Harry interjected.

"What picture?" he asked nervously.

"There was a picture of all the Marauders at Hogwarts. My mum and dad were at the front, but you and Remus were in it and you had your arm round him. But Hermione knew before we saw that."

"But I haven't seen you that much. How could you've known?" His bafflement was not eased.

Hermione ignored a warning glance from Harry and replied, "We had tea with Professor Lupin. He loves you too."

Sirius stared at her intently beneath furrowed brows.

"Did he tell you that?" he asked sharply.

"N … no," she quailed a little.

The façade of ice returned to the Animagus' face.

"Of course he didn't. He doesn't love me," he remarked, and his tone made the students shiver a little.

"But…?"

"No, Hermione … and this goes for you too Harry: please don't try to meddle in my affairs," he paused, and great pain shone in his eyes. "It is too late for us, and it is all my fault. Remus does not love me."

With that, he transformed into a great shaggy dog, whose shoulders seemed to slump, and bounded off down the corridor.

The trio looked at each other helplessly. Hermione was mute, but Ron exclaimed, "Ok, now this is just getting weird. What the bloody hell is going on?"

"I don't know, but we're going to find out," Harry said grimly.

Slipping the cloak over their heads as a precaution, they sidled through the door, and made their way along the darkened ward.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Remus awoke slowly, blinking into the dimness. Although he could clearly feel his living heart beating in his chest, there was a remarkable lack of the searing agony which he expected. In its place there was only the mildest ache, almost comforting in its reality.

Gradually, he became more aware of his surroundings, and his eyes locked with a solemn green pair nearby.

_*Perhaps I have died after all…*_

"Lily?" he almost called, but something restrained him, and he was glad that he had not spoken when he recognised the unruly mop of black curls which fell into those eyes.

"Harry?" he croaked.

"Hello, Remus," the boy replied, overly cheerfully.

"Do you know what happened to me?"

The children exchanged wary glances.

"There are some rumours in the school, but Professor McGonagall yelled at us for talking about it, and we only know that there was a Death Eater attack."

Remus nodded, surprised to find that his head spun very little as he did so.

"Yes … but why am I not dead?" he asked. "I remember, I was dying."

Hermione choked back a sob.

"I'm not sure," she whispered, "but Professor Snape was gone for a couple of days. Perhaps he made a potion to cure you."

"Or perhaps he was just thinking up a new way to torture us," Ron snorted.

Despite the seeming strangeness of a benign intervention by Severus Snape, it made sense, and certainly explained the foul herbal taste which clung to his tongue. As Remus considered the matter, he was suddenly afraid.

'Where is Sirius? I remember him being here."

Harry's eyes blazed.

"We met him in the corridor as he was leaving," he said almost fiercely.

Remus inhaled sharply, feeling bitter pain tear at his heart despite his best efforts to shut it off.

"Good," he forced out. "It is better that he is not here."

"Good?" Harry exploded, the fury and terror of the last few months channeled into this one outlet. "What do you mean it's bloody 'good'? He loves you, and you love him. What's so good about the fact that you're just sitting here like nothing's happening?"

Remus stiffened.

"You are mistaken," he said dispassionately. "Black does not love me."

Ron gaped like a fish, and scrubbed at his fiery hair in exasperation.

"That does it!" he snapped. "First I thought that this pair were loonies when they first told me about you two, but you and Sirius are worse. It's just as bad as spending a summer around Percy when he was mooning over Penelope Clearwater because she'd dumped him, but refusing to owl her because he was too busy with his _stupid_ international cauldron bottoms. He said just the same thing."

"Who?" inquired Remus, mildly amused despite everything. "Percy?"

"No. Sirius: he said that you don't love him."

The others seemed more than a little surprised by their friend's outburst.

"He said that?" The werewolf twisted the edge of the sheet between his hands, feeling dizzy, as if a great, choking weight had settled on his chest.

"Yes," Harry's voice was sombre.

Remus shook his head, shutting himself off from the wonderful possibility, fearing the terrible pain when it was proved to be a mirage.

"No. He doesn't love me. I can't let myself believe that, because it isn't true." He paused, and confusion flickered across his tired features. "I thought that you would be more bothered about this, Harry. I mean, about the way I feel about Sirius…"

Harry let out a great shout of laughter which rattled the glass in the windows, and Ron joined him. The crackling tension in the room seemed to ease a little.

"Be quiet!" Hermione hissed. "You'll wake Madam Pomfrey, and then we'll be in trouble."

It was only with great difficulty that the boys stifled their giggles with the sleeves of their robes pressed to their mouths.

"Because you're both men?" Harry snorted, wiping tears from his eyes. "Look around."

He gestured wildly with one arm, narrowly missing a fatal collision with a vase of flowers, but his tone grew solemn. "Death Eaters are everywhere. I could die tomorrow; my parents are already dead. Why should I care if you're in love with Sirius instead of some girl? At least you're in love with someone."

"Love isn't everything," the man whispered, more to convince himself than to explain anything to Harry.

"Is that what you told my parents?" the boy rasped.

"Of course not," Remus sighed, struggling for words. "Lily and James were … were in love."

"Yes, they were." Harry's face grew determined. "But so are you and Sirius."

His gaze was so fierce that Remus ducked his head to avoid it.

"He really does love you," Hermione asserted. "You should have seen his face. He was so sad."

Faint hope began to thaw in Remus' frozen heart and light his features.

"He looked unhappy … He was not simply grateful that I am alive, and nothing more?" His words were almost inaudible.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Harry asked rhetorically. "He was so sodding miserable because he loves you and he thinks you don't love him."

"Really?"

"Really!" the trio affirmed in unison.

A great smile split Remus' face.

"I … I thought he did not love me. He said he did not," he stammered.

"Men!" Hermione huffed. "Do you always believe what people sat instead if trying to understand what they mean?"

Ron and Harry looked at her quizically, but the werewolf merely chuckled.

"Almost always, Hermione, almost always."

_*Perhaps he really does love me. Oh my Siri, my darling…*_

He noticed the first hints of pink stain the sky outside the window.

"You'd better go now, or you'll miss breakfast," he reminded them. The students made to leave, but Harry turned back.

"You'll say something to him?"

"If I dare, I shall." But he would venture no more than that.

Once the children had departed, he struggled from the bed, cursing the lingering weakness as his legs became entangled in the sheets. He searched around for his clothes, clad only in loose pyjama bottoms, but found that the ruined robes had been destroyed. Wrapping himself in the sheet he stumbled towards the door of Madam Pomfrey's quarters and hammered on the solid wood. She appeared with her wand in her hand.

"What is it?" What's happened now?'

"Please can I have some clothes?" he begged.

"Silly boy, you should be in bed. You're in no state to wander round." She noticed that he was still unsteady on his feet and needed to prop himself against the wall.

"Please give me some clothes."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have been seriously ill and need to rest."

"Please."

Madam Pomfrey was busy, and she knew that once this particularly troublesome patient was gone she would be inundated with children with all manner of colds and sniffles and magical injuries. Besides, as he stood before her, the light sheet wrapped round his shivering body, she could not help but see a twelve year-old with claw marks on his back and fear in his eyes.

"Oh, all right."

TBC

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Do I really need to remind you how much I love feedback?  So much that I'll send you good vibes and virtual chocolate *smiles*


	13. Endings and Beginnings

****

Shadowed Souls

****

Chapter Thirteen 

Some of the content of this chapter may be a borderline **R **rating for sexual references and swearing. Just so you know.

Thank you for being so patient. Real life is an evil thing and has been getting in the way of writing far too much recently.

Thanks to Farewell, ladyassassin, Isa, Keiwen-Pi, QueenSmithy, MorganD, madkornfan, FairyTale, evil spapple pie, white owl, mystandmemory, Lady Pegasus, Mel, Gracie, Mrs Aish Luthor, Star, Skep, Melannii, Mimiru, chimerical, CIM, MoonyProngs, fusion, WaitingOnYou, Ryuen, Larken84, Pip, Marauder, Eirual, Anne Valentine, Luna, Ice, Padfootwolfboy, tanuki-chan, Ralza, and anyone else I've forgotten for reviewing. 

Extra thanks and chocolate to Farewell for prodding me and threatening me with Arryn, without which I don't know when this would have been written.

Yes, it's the end, the last chapter, the big showdown … so I'll shut up and let you read *g*

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Remus stumbled through the downpour, under a leaden sky, shivering convulsively in a worn school-robe several inches too short and a cloak which had certainly seen better days, possibly before he was born. He had waited in the Shrieking Shack for hours, convincing himself every second that Sirius would return the next, until it had become painfully obvious that he could stay here for as long as he wished, and remain totally alone. So, with his mouth dry and his heart pounding erratically in his throat, he had set out to search for him in all the places where they had hidden in their youth. He firmly quashed the tide of dangerously bittersweet memories which threatened to overwhelm him as he went, memories of times which they never thought would end, never be lost in a mire of betrayal, anger and bloodshed.

Finally, when he had exhausted all other possibilities, Remus began to climb the steep hill outside Hogsmeade, his feet slipping and sliding on the mossy stones and slick earth, grabbing hold of bushes to keep himself upright until he was soaked to the skin and filthy, his face streaked with gluey mud. Cursing the foulness of the weather, he lifted his head to check where he was, and saw, silhouetted against the heavy darkness of the clouds, a blacker shadow, wind-whipped like a struggling sapling. As he drew nearer, he realised that it was too tall, too frailly thin to be an animal. It was a man, his tear-ravaged face upraised to the pounding rain, his soaked robes plastered to his body.

"Sirius," he called out, acutely aware of the tremulous note of uncertainty in his voice. "Sirius, you shouldn't be out here. What if someone sees you?"

The Animagus turned his gaze on Remus and the werewolf shivered involuntarily at the blankness, the abject lack of any last flicker of emotion, which flamed in those blue eyes, searing him to the bone.

"Who would be out in this weather but outcasts and vagabonds?" His face hardened even further. "You should go back to Hogwarts, Lupin. I'm fine here."

"Don't be so damn ridiculous," Remus snapped. "You're freezing. Come back to my flat and get dried off."

"I'm not going anywhere near your…" Sirius returned harshly, but stopped dead as the slighter man swayed, clutching at a stunted tree for support, ignoring the thorns which cut into the tender flesh of his palm. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You're still sick. Do you want to give yourself pneumonia as well?"

His heart clenched at the thought of how near the other had been to the brink of death.

"I'm not going anywhere until you agree to come and get dried off."

For a brief moment, the two men simply stared at each other, tension charging the air between them, crackling from tree to tree. With the slightest gesture of acquiescence, Sirius transformed into his Animagus form and stalked off towards the village, every hair on the scruff of his neck bristling with fear.

~*~*~*~

Fishing round for the muggle-style key, which the Death Eaters had fortunately overlooked, Remus let them into the chilly flat. Shrugging off his waterlogged cloak and leaving it in a puddle on the floor, he began searching for towels and clean, dry clothes, unwilling to make eye contact with his visitor, who was looking around through heavily lidded eyes, noticing every small detail, every scattered book, every discarded quill. Remus was afraid of his own reaction if he caught that adamantine glare, of the tumultuous emotions bubbling up inside him and threatening to escape in a torrent of words.

"God, Moony, your taste in clothes has gone downhill!" Sirius emerged from the bedroom in a robe in a particularly bilious shade of dark green. Remus, straightening up suddenly, cracked his head on a open cupboard door.

"Believe me, that robe would not have been my first choice either, but you make do with whatever comes to hand," he said with a shrug and a wan smile. 

The Animagus stiffened, his eyes glittering strangely as he remembered the bleak hopelessness of his situation, and the inappropriateness of the casual teasing remarks which still rose so easily to his lips. "I beg your pardon. I'll be going."

"You still need to warm up. I'll make some tea." He knew that he was gibbering from nerves, but found it impossible to stop. "I have Earl Grey … lemon and ginger…"

"Tea? Tea?" Sirius exploded, his already meagre patience melting away. "Because tea will make everything so much better, is that it? That's the problem with you, Remus Lupin. You think we can all be polite and oh so English and drink tea and pretend that we're only casual acquaintances, and everything will be fine."

"So I guess that tea isn't the answer." The werewolf sank down shakily onto the ancient, sagging sofa. Sirius paced the room angrily, his bare feet leaving damp marks on the threadbare carpet, raking his hands through his hair, showering the furniture with flying rain droplets.

Remus wiped one from his face, absentmindedly rubbing his fingertips together.

"We need to talk." He worried at his frayed cuff, hesitant as to how far he should go... how far he dared to go before his courage failed…

"There's nothing left to be said." The Animagus plunked himself down on the sofa as far from his old lover as possible. "What's the point of trying when you've already told me that you don't want anything to do with me?"

"I have something more to say," Remus maintained stubbornly. "Won't you listen?"

"Fine." The Animagus stretched his long legs out, his bony ankles protruding incongruously from the darned hem, and feigned nonchalance.

"That day … in the summer … when we … when we…"

"When we kissed." The harsh, flat tone of Sirius' words cut the hair.

"Yes. You … I … Oh damn, this is difficult," Remus swore, staring at his fingers as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, and might indeed turn out to be encrusted with precious gems. "I feel ridiculous saying this. How James would have laughed at me … even Lily would have. When we kissed … or rather afterwards, you broke my heart. There: I've said it."

"You don't need to rub it in," complained Sirius, picking at a loose thread on his robe until it began to unravel. "I know I screwed it up. I know I ruined it all…"

Looking at the fine mouth drawn tight with frustration, at the bloodshot, exhausted blue eyes, Remus gave into the temptation he had been fighting since he had found his friend on the mountainside. Stretching out one tentative hand, he gently brushed a lock of dark hair back from his love's high forehead, his fingers lingering on the damp skin with tenderness still familiar after so many long years. Silently, he revelled in the contrast between his own chill and this burning heat.

"Don't." Sirius imprisoned his wrist with an iron-hard grip. "Don't. I've lived through the last fourteen years and done it on my own because no one wanted to help me. I' d rather do the same with this than have you fuck me one last time out of pity, because your great soft heart can't bear to see me suffering."

Remus bowed his head, letting his silver-streaked hair fall in his eyes, which shone with a curious mixture of affection and anger, before replying steadily, "We never just 'fucked'. Not even at the end when we were both desperate and afraid and no longer trusted each other."

"No," Sirius whispered sadly, hunching his shoulders. "We never did, did we?"

"So let me finish," the werewolf continued, knowing all to well that to hesitate, to falter now could be the death of all his hopes. "Was it pity you felt for me the other night, when we thought I was dying?"

"You don't pity what you love," Sirius stated baldly, unable to hide the way he winced at the mention of that terrible night, when he had kept vigil over poison-wracked body of his love.

"So is that a yes or no?" Remus waited for an answer, his breath caught in his throat, while Sirius fiddled with his now-ruined sleeve.

"No. Of course it's no. I don't pity you at all. How could I pity anyone as strong as you?"

"So you love me?" He leaned in very close, his hand still clasped in Sirius'. The Animagus felt the last tenuous threads of his control slip from his grasp as he breathed in the simple scent of the man whom he had loved for years beyond count, reminding himself that they were both still alive.

"Yes." He was mesmorised by the soft dusting of freckles visible on the pale skin stretched across Remus' cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Without a word, the werewolf closed the distance between them, and kissed him softly, their lips barely meeting in a feather-light touch, tantalising in the promises which it held out of more to follow.

Sirius backed off, his eyes confused, uncertain as to what this might mean. Scrutinising him closely, Remus smiled with sudden brilliance, and allowed all the repressed emotion of the last few months to creep into his voice.

"I love you, dear, foolish Sirius. Why did we ever deny this?"

He kissed him again, his hands bunched into the thick cloth of Sirius' robe. With a groan, the dark-haired man wrapped his arms around him, crushing their bodies together until breathing was impossible, close enough that it seemed unnecessary, that all that mattered was the depth of their kiss, the duel of their tongues and, the raw sensation of one body against another.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and smiling, they simply looked at each other, grey eyes and blue alike lit with love and desire. Remus opened his mouth as if to speak, but he found Sirius' finger pressed to his lips, shushing him.

"Words only seem to get us into trouble. No more words for now."

Remus flickered his tongue across the sensitive skin, caressing the calluses of so many years of life in a bare cell. Sirius' eyes widened, darkening with arousal, and with a fluid movement he pulled the other man to his feet. As he drew him across the room, kicking any piece of furniture unlucky enough to be in his way aside, his hands were already fumbling for the buttons fastening Remus' robes, seeking the cool flesh underneath, desperate to reassure himself that this was indeed real. As the werewolf reciprocated eagerly, nibbling at the exposed skin on Sirius' neck, they left a trail of discarded clothes on the floor, until they tumbled into bed in a melee of limbs, frantically touching as if to burn away bitter memories and lingering doubt.

~*~*~*~

"So this is…"

"Yes," Remus reassured him with a soothing kiss, his hands exploring the knots of muscle on Sirius' shoulders until he arched against him helplessly. "If you wish it to be…"

In a instant, he found himself pinned to the bed, his lover – past, present, and future – grinning down at him with all the old cheer.

"More than anything else."

Before Sirius could stop him, he had slipped out from under him. The Animagus tried to entrap one slender arm, but he was too fast, and skillfully escaped the amorous embrace.

"You're going?"

"Yes. But I hope that the kitchen doesn't count as abandonment," Remus grinned.

"Why are you going to the kitchen?" he pouted. 

"We need food."

"Why?"

"Because I don't intend to let you out of my bed for a very, very long time, and we're going to need something to eat, somewhere along the way."

"But you should be resting."

"I'm staying in bed, aren't I?" With a final smile, Remus padded towards the kitchen.

Sirius looked exasperated for a second, but his anxiety was soon eclipsed by a lecherous grin.

"Do you have any chocolate? Chocolate would be good…"

FINIS

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